


To Breach her Heart

by Anithrarith



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All the Smut, Complicated Relationships, Crazy Fade Dreams, Dreams, Elven Gods, Emotions are Complicated, F/M, Grey Warden Obsession, Lyrium Addiction, Nightmares, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Inquisitor, POV Solas, Red Lyrium, Romance, Slow Burn, The Fade, Violence, eventually, head canon, past spirit possession, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-01 08:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anithrarith/pseuds/Anithrarith
Summary: “I know who she looks like Cullen. You need to be careful, this is not Valwyn.”Leliana knows. Of course Leliana knows. She was there when he was rescued from the tower. She was there when his secret was revealed. The Inquisition’s spymaster knows just how he felt about the late Hero of Ferelden.And she’s just made it obvious she suspects his current feelings for the Herald of Andraste.---------------------------First of her clan, Initiate of Mythal, and now Herald of Andraste. Sarenna Lavellan's life has been plagued by nightmares, both literally and figuratively. After agreeing to aid the newly formed Inquisition, she learns that the man who has caught her eye, the Inquisition's Commander no less, is truly her worst nightmare. However the Commander suffers from his own demons, and is determined to slay them once and for all. Sarenna must now learn to protect herself from hostile nighttime visitors, while playing nice with them during her waking hours.





	1. The Herald

#### Chapter 1: The Herald

Awareness comes to Sarenna in a rush.

Her memory is fragmented. Shouting, fighting, demons. Green. 

The most _unholy_ of greens. 

She cannot place the images that whirl through her mind, nor can she seem to stop them. The vortex of her thoughts comes to a sudden screaming halt, and an instant later she finds herself crouching low to the ground, surrounded by mist. Her eyes dart back and forth as she tries her best to see through the thick fog before her. How did she get here? Where _is_ here? The mist rolls away from her body at a leisurely pace, it is in no hurry to reveal its secrets. She turns her gaze down where her hands are pressed into the dirt. Stones and pebbles are visibly digging into the skin of her lithe fingers, and yet she feels nothing.

The Fade.

She is dreaming. Was this another nightmare? This isn’t how her demons usually choose to torture her. There is no battlefield, no screaming, no one is dying. All is calm and silent in the mist.

The serenity of the Fade does not last long. A single howl splits the stillness of the air. Sarenna jumps before trying once more to see what awaits for her. It is only the Fade. Even if her demons choose to show themselves to her here, they cannot feed from her as long as she doesn’t use any magic. Calm, she only needs to remain calm, and this dream will pass, and she can awaken safe.

She hears the howling again, closer this time. Sarenna slowly rises from the crouch she is in, her sense of unease deepening. There is something very unusual about this dream. The demons do not make a habit of toying with her in such a way. They are usually much more... direct, in their games. The tendrils of the Fade brush past the bare flesh of her arms, and she watches as goosebumps begin to spread against her skin. She is very well acquainted with the way the energies of the Fade move when there are demons about. This is no demon that comes for her now.

Whether out of curiosity or in fear, she is not sure, but Sarenna cannot stay still. She lifts her foot to take a step forward when the howl startles her for the third time. She swears the source is just in front of her, if only the way was clear so that she could see. She immediately thinks she should be careful what she wishes for as the the air clears and a shadow begins to form. Her heart hammers in her chest as she watches the sentient darkness move within the mist, watches as it curls around itself, before resolving into a distinct shape.

A wolf. Void of light.

Sarenna stands frozen while staring at the creature before her. She doesn’t even dare to breathe as the wolf continues to solidify. Seconds tick by while her magic mixes with adrenaline and courses through her veins. It waits just under the surface of her skin for her to command it, to use her birthright in order to protect herself. And yet, she instead chooses to allow the magical energies to lie dormant within her, and takes several hurried steps backwards. She understands only too well the consequences of releasing her gift while in the Fade.

She is able to take four steps away from the beast before it opens its eyes. 

All six eyes.

They are green. They are that same terrible green. And they shine as if there is a fire behind them. While she is mesmerized by the wolf’s eyes, Sarenna barely registers that the beast’s fur transitions from the black shadow to the purest white. 

_You_. A deep, powerful voice permeates the space around her. She can feel it push against her, as if it were a physical force. _You are the one to bare this burden. I would have spared you this._

The voice is almost, sad. Sarenna tilts her head slightly and frowns while the wolf continues to stare at her. Whatever she thought to encounter in the Fade, it was certainly not this.

_This one belongs to me! She is in my service!_

Another voice, this one old, rich and throaty, female. And equally as powerful as the first. The wolf snarls and turns its back towards Sarenna. She looks up to see another shadow floating in the mist just beyond the Fade beast. The blackness undulates urgently, the form shaping itself quickly. It is unlike anything she has ever seen before. The curvy silhouette suggests a woman, but the shadow continues to elongate out to either side. By the time the second creature has finished its metamorphosis, Sarenna is at a loss to identify this being. It shines like black onyx and radiates life, however she doubts anything like this would ever exist outside of the Fade. She knows of no being in Thedas that is half woman and half dragon.

_This was not of my choosing! She has been marked by him. She is fortunate to be alive._

_She lives because she is protected by me._ The second voice simmers.

_Then I will do what I can to aid in her protection. He will not rest. He will come for her._

The wolf spins again, facing her once more. Sarenna watches helpless as it suddenly springs into the air towards her. Before she can blink, she finds herself on her back with the wolf looking down from atop her chest. All those eyes pierce into her own. She watches as they gradually change from green to blue luminescence. Smoke, she assumes it is smoke, begins to seep out from the corner of the wolf’s eyes, drifting away, mixing into the mist. It blinks, and for the briefest of moments they are the pale blue eyes of an elf.

And then she is falling. Falling through the mist. Falling through the Fade. Both wolf and woman are gone. 

And she is falling.

***************************

Sarenna wakes with a start, gasping for air. Her arms are up in front of her, trying to push the wolf off of herself, but there is no need now that she has awoken. Her chest aches where the predator’s paws struck her, and she wonders just how is it possible to feel a physical consequence of the Fade. A sudden, dull noise catches her attention and she pushes herself up onto her elbows searching for the source. 

She is quick to spot the elf standing across the room with her arms outstretched, a box at her feet. Sarenna scans the rest of the room, her eyes wide while she searches her surroundings. It only takes an instant for the mage’s memory to blossom, and no time at all for her to wonder why she isn’t waking up in prison, as she had the last time. In fact her current accommodations, if they are in fact hers, are downright luxurious compared to what she is used to. She barely registers the sound of the other elf speaking, before exercising her own vocal cords.

“Where am I?” 

In response the woman drops to the ground, prostrating herself before Sarenna.

“You’re in Haven My Lady. They say you saved us! You stopped the Breach from growing. It stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all everyone’s talked about for the last three days!” The words are mumbled into the rug beneath her.

Sarenna sits up abruptly while looking at the green gash that decorates the palm of her left hand. The green gash that glows and matches the colour of the Breach. She raises her head and directs her gaze towards the window. And there she can see it, as it continues to swirl among the clouds. The tear in the sky that allowed the denizens of the Fade to come rushing into the world. 

“I’m no Lady.” A brief flash of green illuminates the edges of the Breach, and she does her best not to wince at the strange sensation as she feels a foreign magic travel up her arm. It burns in her veins and she silently calls upon the ice that lies inside her to cool the inferno. The pain is inconsequential compared to what it had been the first time she woke up chained in Haven.

“Yes My Lady.” The other elf’s head shoots up excitedly, “Oh! The Lady Cassandra said to report to the Chantry at once. At Once she said!” 

“Yes.” The single word is said softly, as if a sleeping babe were in the room. Sarenna ignores the elf as she scrambles off the floor and all but flees the cabin, leaving the mage alone with her thoughts. 

She is still amazed that she has survived again. Supposedly. She cannot remember her first encounter with the Breach. She cannot recall the explosion that destroyed the Conclave, and killed the Divine. She cannot fathom how anything could create the green horror that swirls outside the window. She _knows_ she did not commit that atrocity, and yet she is the only one who survived. The only one left to blame. If only she could remember what happened!

Sarenna falls back onto the bed, her breath comes out in a disgruntled huff. She _can_ remember why she’d been sent to the conclave in the first place. She is a spy. Not a very good spy by any means of the imagination, but a spy nonetheless. As First of her clan, it had been her duty to infiltrate the rebel mages and witness the outcome of the Conclave. It shouldn’t have been a difficult task given the fact that both she and the rebels were considered apostates.

Her last memory before waking up three days ago from her first Breach induced coma, was staring up at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in awe as she walked through the massive archways leading to the main hall. The throng of mages she was caught up in, persistently pushed her forward, not letting her take in the sight for as long as she’d wanted to. She wasn’t at all surprised by the open hostility between the mages and the Templars. She had been taken aback by how well the two groups were tolerating each other’s presence in the temple’s close quarters. However every time she caught a Templar staring at her, she could not suppress the shiver that ran down her spine. The shrill call of the lyrium mixed in their blood made her want to cradle her head. But it has been years since she became proficient at hiding the effects the song had on her. She wished she could have carried her daggers instead of her staff, however her task demanded that she not hide in plain sight as she normally would. The difference between rebel mage and Dalish mage mattered little to the Templars, they would hunt her down regardless. 

Trying to remember anything after that causes a sharp pain in her right temple, worse than what the lyrium from the Templars can do. Sarenna immediately rubs the spot gently, not willing to endure any more agony than she already has. She has a sneaking suspicion that she is far from being done with pain.The thought leads her to stare at the mark once more. 

She’d told Cassandra that she would do whatever she could to help. Clearly her actions leading to the stabilization of the Breach have earned her a small portion of the Seeker’s trust, as witnessed by her current lack of confinement. She wonders how Cassandra would react if she knew that her offer of help was not entirely altruistic. She is after all Dalish and dedicated to Mythal. The goddess will not let a transgression such as this go unpunished. There were elven mages at the Conclave as well. Justice would be served.

Did Mythal mean for her to be left with the mark upon her palm? She is almost mesmerized by the glow coming from her hand. Once again she feels the fire burn inside. Her reaction is quicker this time, the ice cooling her almost instantly. She only hopes that with the Breach stabilized, these “spasms” will eventually stop. Sarenna takes a deep breath before sitting up and getting off the mattress. She is not looking forward to facing the Seeker again, but she knows she will need to get used to it. Cassandra is just as deep into this mess as she is, and she doesn’t see herself parting ways with the Seeker any time soon. 

Sarenna makes her way towards the door, but pauses as she passes the large wooden tub. Living life in a nomadic dalish clan, afforded few luxuries. Perhaps she will be able to enjoy a few during her time here. She can almost feel the dirt and grime coming off her body as she envisions herself soaking in that tub. It wouldn’t be the hot springs she’s used to, but at this point she’ll give it a close second. A noise outside the cabin catches her attention and she casts one more longing look towards the basin before heading out the door.

The sun immediately blinds her as she steps outside. Her eyes take a moment to adjust, and she freezes in place as she registers what is happening in front of her. Rows of soldiers and commoners stand staring at her, as if she is a spectacle to see. Some of them bow as she takes a tentative step forward, their reverence unnerves her. The hatred and loathing she experienced as she passed by these people not days earlier is completely gone, and replaced with awe and admiration. They look towards her as if she is _their_ Keeper. Sarenna takes in a shaky breath and increases the speed of her pace. While she is relieved that silent accusations are no longer being directed towards her, she is not sure the alternative is any better. 

As she desperately tries to remember which direction the Chantry is located, she catches the whispers left in her wake.

She saved them. She is blessed. She is Holy. She must be the Herald.

The Herald of Andraste.

With her heart hammering in her chest, Sarenna quickly climbs the stairs of the terrace to her left. There! Beyond the next structure she can see the pointed roof and the fluttering red banners of the Chantry. She is walking as fast as she can without bursting into a sprint and by the time she reaches the group of clerics outside the Chantry’s double doors, she is panting for breath. The gossip spewing from the lips of the Andrastian brothers and sisters gathered in front of her sounds as if they are shouting, instead of the hushed tones they are actually using. Her over sensitized ears ring as she pushes past the group and almost trips past the doors of the holy building. 

Sarenna leans her back against the wood after closing the door behind her, the large brass ring digging into her spine. She can barely feel it as she does her best to clear her head, and tries to hear something other than the pounding of her heart. The flickering candles that sit around the bases of the statues of Andraste herself, are the only things to move. The hall is fortunately empty. There is no one to see the panic in her eyes. She shifts her gaze from the floor to the nearest statue. Herald of Andraste they called her. The stone likelihood of the prophet in question stares straight down, its blank expression offering little in the way of guidance. 

She unconsciously reaches up to twist her fingers into her hair, only to grasp nothing. Silently, she regrets cutting her red silken locks before leaving the Free Marches. It seemed a smart move at the time, given the type of journey she was about to embark on. Her hand starts to tremble and she presses it into the side of her leg. Her attempt to compose herself begins to work as she slowly releases the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She looks to the other end of the hall and sees a large door at the back sitting slightly ajar. Light spills out from the room beyond, as well as the faint sounds of an argument. 

Her vision tunnels and all she can focus on is the entrance in front of her. She is sure that is where she will find Cassandra. Sarenna knows once she passes that threshold, there will be no turning back. The thought of leaving now and making her way back to her clan pulls at her the way an anchor pulls at a ship. However a single thought worms its way into her mind. What if she had not survived? What if she’d died, just like everyone else? Who would bring justice to her soul? 

What if there was no one? 

Initially she agreed to help because of the sacred vow she swore to Mythal and the lingering effects of Justice, but now she walks steadily towards the other end of the hall because she knows she will not be able to live with herself if she slinks away like a thief in the night. Truthfully, her fate is stamped on the palm of her hand. Someone sabotaged the peace talks between the mages and the Templars knowing full well the consequences it would bring. Someone wanted chaos to reign in Thedas. Someone wanted the world to burn.

 _I won’t let that happen._ She thinks as she stalks the last few steps to the back room. She pauses in front of the door. Sarenna can clearly hear the argument taking place in the next chamber. There is no mistaking Cassandra’s raised voice, however she can’t place the other one. She lifts her hand to push open the door but stops before her skin can make contact with the veneer surface.

“Mythal give me strength. I have a feeling I’m going to need a whole lot of it very soon.” She whispers to herself, then takes another deep breath, and opens the door before her.

Her entrance goes unnoticed for the most part. She is just in time to watch as Cassandra slams a tome onto the table in front of her while yelling at a man dressed in Chantry robes. The two guards standing on either side of the door look quickly from her then back towards the Seeker in the middle of the room. It isn’t until Cassandra has the man backed up against a wall, her finger poking him in the chest with every word, that Sarenna recognizes him as Chancellor Roderick, the cleric who tried to have her immediately executed upon her first awakening. The Chancellor’s face is livid by the time Cassandra finishes with him. Without another word he turns away from the Seeker only to see Sarenna standing in the doorway, and if at all possible, turns an even deeper shade of red.

“I should have known!” His voice cracks on the last word.

“Leave Chancellor.” Cassandra’s voice is deadly calm, a sharp contrast from moments earlier.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.” There is no room for another rebuttal as Roderick exits past Sarenna. The look he directs her way would have turned her stomach into knots, had she not already made her decision to stay. Besides, she can’t think of anything the Chancellor can do to upset her more than what she already heard from the citizens of Haven. She stares after Roderick a moment longer before turning back to the other occupants of the room. It is only then that she notices the other woman, Leliana, standing on the other side of the table, looking down at the tome. 

_She looks just as deadly without her armor and weapons, as she does with them,_ Sarenna thinks to herself. In fact, she’s sure Leliana is even more dangerous off the battlefield than on it. She’s already seen the archer in action while they attempted to stabilize the Breach three days earlier, she hopes she never has to witness her true prowess up close.

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” She isn’t positive, but it sounds as if Leliana is as unstable as Sarenna feels. 

“We have no choice! We must act now.” Cassandra turns her head sharply towards Sarenna, “With you at our side.” She’s not sure if the last remark is a question or a statement. 

“What is ‘the Inquisition of old’ exactly?” The answer to her question will not change her mind, but she needs to know what it is she’s signing up for. These ‘shem’ have many organizations that have lasted throughout the ages, and not all of them have been kind to her elven ancestors. She needs to know if there’s a possibility that she may be betraying her clan by joining this ‘Inquisition’. 

“It preceded the Chantry: People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.” Leliana answers softly.

“After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done, united under a single banner once more.” Cassandra declares.

Sarenna stiffens visibly. While the Templars may not be a direct enemy of the Dalish, they certainly are a danger to her. They are half of the reason why the Conclave was called for in the first place. If it wasn’t for their zealotry and their misconceptions about magic, this entire disaster may have been avoided. But if what the Seeker says is true, then perhaps there is a way to unite everyone, and put this war to rest. While her people had not been directly affected in the Free Marches, it didn’t mean she hadn’t heard from other clans what kind of trouble it caused for them. It would have only been a matter of time before some group of Templars came across her clan and decided they were harboring apostates.

“When I woke up, I certainly didn’t picture this outcome.”

“Neither did we.” Leliana answers just as shocked.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late.” Cassandra pleads while offering her hand.

Sarenna stares at the Seeker’s outstretched hand for a moment before grasping it in her own. Panic starts to well up inside her, but she does her best to stop it in its tracks. She can’t tell herself that everything will be fine, because she honestly doesn’t know if it will be. But she has the support of the two women in front of her, and from what she can tell, they are both forces to be reckoned with in their own rights. Despite their reluctant acceptance of her, Sarenna knows her reasons for staying are just. She will earn their trust. She will have to if they are to have any chance at stopping this. She realizes then, that she’s still not sure they have a clear understanding what it is exactly they are trying to stop.

“Does anyone have a better idea how the Breach happened?” 

Cassandra lets go of her hand and frowns. “Not yet.” 

“You’re still our only lead. If you can’t remember what happened in the Temple, then it’s going to be a long time before we ever know what transpired in there.” Leliana’s voice has the ability to sound menacing, despite her Orlesian accent.

“We need to gather Josephine and the Commander. Together we can decide what our next steps will be.” The Seeker turns towards the exit but stops before she has even taken a step and looks back at Sarenna. “You are free to explore Haven, however do not wander very far, we will have need of you soon enough.” 

Sarenna stares after Cassandra. The two guards by the door follow her down the Chantry’s hallway, just as mute as they were earlier.

“You’ll have to excuse me as well. We have a lot of work ahead of us.” Leliana also moves to take her leave, but pauses at the door. She turns her head so all Sarenna can see is her profile peaking out from the hood she wears. “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. I only hope that you resemble her in deed as well.” She doesn’t linger and silently makes her way down the hall.

It isn’t until Sarenna hears the main door of the chantry bang shut, that she feels her arms trembling. She looks down and watches a moment as her fingers shake. She can’t be alone. Not now. A walk, she’ll go for a walk, and hopefully she won’t submit to the melt down her body wants to release. 

She doesn’t remember leaving the chantry. She doesn’t even remember making her way through Haven while trying to ignore every person she passes. But at some point she finds herself looking down at the dwarf, Varric, as he sits by a fire, and wondering why he would wear such an expensive looking coat if it doesn’t even cover him fully. Maybe his chest hair keeps him warm in the Frostback Mountain air. 

“I see you’re back in the land of the living. They were worried they were going to lose you there for a few days.” He says without looking up from the flames. 

“Yes, well, I’m apparently harder to kill then I look.” 

“Lucky is what I call it.” He motions towards the box on the other side of the fire. “Have a seat.”

Sarenna does as he suggests, grateful for the company. “Can I ask you something Varric?”

“You want to talk about me? I’m flattered. Also, inclined towards extravagant lies.”

“Good to know. How do you and Cassandra know each other? I don’t take you to be one to worry about Chantry matters.”

Varric grunts before answering. “You heard about the Kirkwall Chantry being destroyed? The guy responsible used to be a friend of mine. The Seeker had questions about that, and I had answers.” The dwarf’s eyes go from lighthearted to stone in a matter of seconds.

“I….see. So, were you involved at all in the Kirkwall incident?” Word had gotten to her clan about that explosion rather quickly. They’d been on their way to Kirkwall to trade, but decided to change routes once they heard the news.

“Not willingly, no. Look that’s not something I’m up for discussing right now. How about I ask you a few questions instead?” 

“Ask away.” The words leave her lips, but she isn’t sure she’s up for another interrogation just yet.

“So what has Cassandra got you roped into now? She’s not one to let go of a lead. That I can attest to.”

“She’s reviving the Inquisition.”

“Oh! This is rich! I suppose I’ll have to stick around a little longer then, make sure you kids can keep yourselves out of trouble.” Despite his bluster, Sarenna finds herself liking the dwarf more and more. She knows he doesn’t get along very well with the Seeker, but then again, Cassandra has already proven to be a rather abrasive personality.

“She’s gone to find Josephine and the Commander. Do you know them as well? Have any tips for me?”

“Oh well Ruffles is an absolute doll! She’s been acting as ambassador as far as I know, and she’s almost as good at spinning a tale as yours truly. She’s been able to put out a lot of political fires in the last few days, that’s for sure. Now Curly, he’s your typical military sort. No sense of humour. Just wants the straight facts. You can see how we might not see eye to eye exactly.” Sarenna raises an eyebrow at Varric. “Ok pun intended. He was also in Kirkwall when the Chantry blew, had to deal with the clean up. I imagine that’s left a few scars on him as well.”

She looks up to see someone standing behind Varric motioning for her attention. “Yes?”

“My Lady Herald! Sister Leliana has requested your presence in the Chantry.” She winces at the title, but nods her head at the messenger, and moves to stand.

“Well, I’ll be here if you need to talk some more Freckles.” Varric drawls while leaning against the stacked boxes behind him.

Sarenna shakes her head. She has talked to the story teller for but a few minutes and he’s already given her a new name as well. “Do you call anyone by their given names?”

“Nope. Do you not like Freckles? I can think of another one if I need to. But honestly, even with those lovely tattoos across your cheeks, your freckles still stand out in the most adorable way.”

“Ren.”

“Sorry?”

“My friends call me Ren.” One ‘friend’ in particular comes to mind, but she shuts down that memory as quickly as she can. She doesn’t wait for a response from the dwarf, and sets off towards the chantry once more.


	2. A Dreamer's Gaze

* * *

####  Sarenna

* * *

Snow starts to fall softly as Sarenna silently follows the messenger who came to fetch her. The silence is noticeable and allows her to focus her mind as she makes her way through Haven this time. She pauses at the top of a terrace and turns looking at the Breach through the snowflakes. Her heart starts hammering once again as she watches the green monstrosity swirling in the sky. The clouds surrounding the Breach are dark and ominous, the flashes that illuminated them earlier are absent and her mark is blessedly silent. The magic that caused her veins to catch fire does not remind her of its sinister power. She is thankful for the moment of peace.

People rush past her in both directions. When they notice who it is they are passing, most bow their heads, and she can hear the word ‘Herald’ on their lips. The title is not something she is pleased with. She is not Andrastian. She is not even human! And yet all of Haven has decided that a Dalish elf will bear a holy title. Sarenna turns back towards the Chantry with a look of disgust and continues on her way. She thinks for a moment of her parting words to Varric and the memories that surfaced. 

She wonders if Cillian knew about the Conclave, if he somehow made his way to the ill fated meeting. She didn’t see him at all, but it would have been easy to miss someone considering the circumstances. She can only hope that he wasn’t there, that he still lives. A tear escapes down her cheek thinking about him. He was the first to leave fingerprints on her heart, but she knows he will not be the last. Lover or not, it is hard to forget that it was he who taught her how to hide in plain sight, and how to wield her father’s daggers. It was he who opened the door for her to learn of her people’s greatest warriors. 

Wiping away the tear from the bottom of her chin, she climbs the last terrace before the chantry and immediately sees the notice posted to the chantry door. The few who stand before the fluttering piece of paper quickly leave as they realize who approaches them. Sarenna shakes her head slightly before reading the note herself. It is an official notice of the reinstatement of the Inquisition. There is most certainly no turning back now.

As she gently pushes open the heavy door before her, she can’t help but turn to take one more look behind her at the Breach in the sky. She backs into the Chantry keeping her eyes on it, hoping it will help remind her why she is staying. It isn’t until she shuts the door in front of her that she hears it. The song of lyrium.

It is said the dwarves search for lyrium veins by listening for its call. The siren song sings to them and they follow its melody to the source. She got to hear the song once. Her clan came across a caravan of surface dwarves who had the unrefined liquid with them. The sound was almost like euphoria. It was a shock to her that this same substance could sound so different when it came from the Templars.

Sarenna can _hear_ lyrium. She can hear it like the dwarves, she can hear it like the Templars. She can hear it in the Templars. Once that silvery substance passes one's lips, it no longer calls to her like a warm blanket on a cold night. When it mixes in the blood the song is angry, it screams and rages. It makes her want to plug her ears, except that would not stop the sound. It has taken her years to learn to ignore the tumult. But at least she always knows when Templars are near.

However the song she hears now is not the warning call that her life is in danger. Instead it is the soothing sound that draws one closer. Why would there be raw lyrium in the Chantry? It was certainly not here when she passed through earlier. The unrefined form is lethal to both humans and elves, and she does not recall seeing many dwarves milling about Haven, she left Varric back at his campfire. Sarenna turns around slowly, almost afraid of what will be waiting for her.

“Oh!”

Her mouth goes dry as the breathy sound escapes her lips. Her eyes quickly wander over the man who stands just a few steps in front of her. 

_Where has this one been?_ She thinks to herself.

Despite very clearly being human, she cannot help but appreciate the sight. Calling him merely handsome does no justice. Blond, barely contained curls top a nearly perfect face. A few days of stubble dust his strong jaw and cleft chin. His lips are full and decorated by a scar running down the right side of his cheek. But it is his eyes, his beautiful, golden eyes that draw her attention. They are open wide in surprise and in their depths she can sense many things: wonder, excitement, pain.

Lust.

She draws in a sharp breath upon the realization, but remains rooted in place. 

The thrumming of the lyrium permeates the haze she has fallen into and she realizes at once that the song is coming from him. This red clad soldier. How is this possible? She immediately wants to label him Templar, but glancing at his uniform she realizes he is not of the order. And the song, the song is wrong. How can vibrations of raw lyrium be coming from him?

“Maker’s breath.”

The softly spoken words break her line of thought. She looks up at him once more and watches as a fine blush spreads across his features.

“Herald! Commander!”

Sarenna tries and fails not to wince once more as she hears Leliana call her by that awful title. Any further musings about the man before her will have to wait as the hooded woman walks towards them from the other end of the Chantry. Her quick footsteps are quiet as she nears, but filled with purpose.

“Cassandra asked that we meet her outside. The Inquisition is about to make its debut.” There is a sparkle in her eye, as if the thought of being part of the ancient organization thrills her to no end. Leliana motions towards the door, and Sarenna is quick to pull it open and exit the building she entered not moments before. She can feel his gaze on her as she steps outside. 

So this is the Commander. This is the typical military sort who had to clean up Kirkwall. Sarenna tries not to let a giggle escape. She will have to inform Varric that there is nothing ‘typical’ about the Commander, her reaction to him most of all. She walks forward without any thought of her destination. The snow continues to fall lazily around them and Sarenna tries to concentrate on that instead of the slow heat that is building inside of her. She can still feel the vibrations of the lyrium and her attempt to distract herself is utterly unsuccessful.

Leliana brushes past Sarenna to join a dark haired woman standing at the edge of the terrace that she failed to notice. The woman turns towards them and Sarenna’s attention is momentarily drawn towards the stunning beauty. This must be Josephine. A doll, Varric had called her. She easily sees why the dwarf gave her the name Ruffles. The layers of lace, silk and chiffon she wears scream nobility. Despite the fact that Sarenna is more accustomed to human conventions than most Dalish elves, she is not able to discern her exact station based on her clothing alone. It cannot be very high if she is out here in this forgotten frozen corner of Thedas.

Sarenna quickly notices a crowd of people have begun to gather in front of them. She watches as more and more, both soldiers and common folk, begin to stream towards the small group she finds herself to be a part of. Their faces are raised towards the four of them, staring expectantly, waiting… She can feel her palms begin to sweat while watching them gather.

Her attention is abruptly drawn towards Josephine once again as the raven haired woman laughs while Leliana whispers something only the diplomat can hear. Every sound is louder than it should be to Sarenna’s ears. The individuals from the crowd shuffling to keep themselves warm. Leliana and the Lady Josephine laughing together in front of her. The creaking of the Commander’s armor as he comes to stand beside her. 

She tries to resist the impulse to turn her head towards him, but finds that she isn’t strong enough for such a task. His honey coloured eyes find her own, studying her for what seems to be an eternity. The vibrations from the song envelop her like a lover’s caress, and she fights to suppress the shiver that runs through her body. She is at war with herself, part of her wanting to take a step closer to this man, part of her wanting to run as far away as she can. There is no denying the attraction she feels, but hearing the song come from him puts her on edge. Even if it is not the normal cautionary sound she is used to, she takes it as a warning regardless. Something is not right with this man.

It isn’t until she hears someone clear their throat that she finally breaks eye contact, and turns her head to see that Cassandra has joined Leliana and Josephine. All three are staring at the Commander and herself. Sarenna stares back, her eyes wide as she feels her face heat up. She wants nothing more than to be _anywhere_ else at the moment. She doesn’t even understand what exactly just happened. Cassandra raises a single perfect brow at them, then turns to face the crowd. 

She watches as Josephine tries her best to hide a smile behind the clipboard she carries while Leliana levels a look at the two of them that suggests she is not impressed, before turning around. Sarenna quickly steps forward to join the other three women, leaving the Commander behind her. She needs to put some space between them.

The Seeker starts to address the crowd, and Sarenna lets the words wash over her as she desperately tries to compose her face into an impassive mask. She can sense him move behind her once more, and she focuses her gaze on the Breach in order to stop herself from locking gazes with him for a third time. Just what came over her? There is no reason, no excuse for her actions. Worst of all, he is human. They are all human, but she isn’t acting as if she has lost her senses when she looks at anyone else.

She tries desperately to listen to Cassandra’s speech, but her tumultuous thoughts distract her at every second word. Between the sinister glow of the Breach and trying to ignore both the Commander’s presence and the melodic song emanating from him, the distractions overwhelm her, and she simply does her best at keeping her face straight. 

It is not long before Sarenna notices the crowd beginning to disperse, and Cassandra turning towards her once more. With a nod of her head, Leliana, Josephine, and the Commander all begin to make their way back towards the Chantry. She begins to shift in order to follow them when she feels a gentle touch on her wrist. The Seeker looks her in the eyes, telling her without words to wait. It isn’t until the chantry doors have closed behind them, that Sarenna is finally free of the song. She lets out a sigh of relief.

“Does it trouble you?” The heavily accented Nevarran voice asks, while looking at Sarenna’s hand.

Sarenna stares at the mark, wishing desperately that it was gone. The memory of closing the rifts before the Breach was stabilized causes her to wince. At least now she knows that she can cool the fire quickly enough.

“Not at the moment.” She follows the other woman carefully as they now make their way to the same destination the others entered not moments before.

“I… am sorry, it causes you pain.” The words come out as if the Seeker is not sure how to enunciate them, “The Breach remains, and we have need of your mark still.”

“Yes, you said so earlier. And as I recall, I _did_ agree to help.”

“Yes, you certainly did.” The Seeker pauses a moment while she pushes open the door in front of her. “Solas believes that a second attempt at the Breach will succeed - provided there is more power. Substantially more power.” Cassandra’s face clouds over as they make their way down the hall of the Chantry.

“You clearly have something in mind.”

“We do. Several somethings.” Cassandra remains silent while they approach the back room. 

She can feel the song as they get closer. It pushes against her mind gently, yet insistently. Sarenna uses every coping mechanism she can think of in order to ignore it while they enter the room, and come to stand near the large table in the middle. Mythal, why were simple things becoming so difficult?

The tension that had been present earlier in this very place is now replaced with conviction. The three people who stand behind the table are here for a reason, they will see this disaster rectified. She can sense their will power, their righteous purpose. It feels similar to her own, and yet it stems from a different root, another divinity guides their hands, but for the same purpose. Or so she assumes. She makes eye contact with all three of them, her gaze lingering on the Commander longer than appropriate.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Cassandra dives right into her introductions. Sarenna watches as his mouth twitches into the most delicious of smirks before he greets her.

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.” The smooth richness of his voice envelopes her as much as the lyrium had. She does her best to ignore the small flame she feels ignite deep inside her.

_He is human,_ she reminds herself. She has only just met him. There are a thousand reasons why she needs to stop thinking about the urges he seems to have awakened in her. And yet her mind is running wild with the possibilities.

She barely registers Cassandra’s introduction of the Lady Josephine Montilyet. It isn’t until she hears her mother tongue fall effortlessly from the beauty’s lips that her attention on the Commander, on Cullen, is broken.

“You speak elven?” She is surprised, yet elated.

“You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.” The lady replies, sounding slightly disappointed in herself. 

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.” Cassandra continues on.

“My position her involves a degree of..” The redheaded woman pauses, as if search for the correct word to use.

“She is our spymaster.” The Seeker finishes abruptly.

“Yes, tactfully put Cassandra.”

The meeting continues on as the Seeker explains, how they came up with the idea to approach either the remaining Templars or the rebel mages for aid in closing the Breach. Leliana and Josephine both believe they should put their efforts towards contacting the mages, with the power found in the rebellion, they could channel enough energy to fully close the Breach. However the meeting starts to drag on as Cullen quickly disagrees, and provides his reasoning for allying with the Templars. Sarenna is not pleased with this second choice, but keeps her silence as she listens to the Inquisition’s advisors argue their points back and forth. 

“I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.” Cullen bursts out in a fit of exasperation. 

Sarenna is well aware of the look of horror that quickly transforms her features as she stares at the Commander. The gentle humming of the song, which she is starting to think of as safe, suddenly becomes just as dire as the warning she normally hears. This man is a danger to her. 

_Was a Templar. Was….._ She was not aware the knights were able to leave the order. She assumed it was a lifelong commitment. However given the current circumstances it is not unexpected that some would leave the Chantry’s service. Could this be the reason the song sounded so different? The spiralling of Sarenna’s inner fears is halted as the conversation continues on, with no one noticing the shift that has taken place within her.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.” Josephine turns towards her.

“They still think I’m guilty.” She quickly schools her facial expressions while the feeling of opposition settles around her shoulders. This is what she has been expecting. What she was prepared to deal with upon waking.

“That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you – a Dalish elf – the 'Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry.” The Ambassador states quickly. “The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.” She smiles, as if opposing the Chantry is some amusing game.

Cassandra leans forward placing her hands upon the table in front of them. “Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.” The frown that appears as she speaks his name could curdle milk.

Josephine’s lips pinch tightly together, as if she is desperately trying not to say something. “It limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.” 

“Just how am _I_ the ‘Herald of Andraste’?” Sarenna acts as if she has not heard the whispers, has not heard the other advisors call her by the horrible title.

She still does not understand how one who has dedicated her life to one god, suddenly becomes the herald of another. It baffles her. And yet, each time she hears the title out loud, it becomes easier to ignore the uncomfortable feeling at being referred to as such. Perhaps, given time, she can accept this title as an advantage, instead of the curse it currently feels like. As the Lady Josephine said, her position is now changed. She is no longer the obvious villain, the murderer they sought. She is now a challenge to the Chantry’s authority, a threat to them in another way.

She _needs_ this title, she suddenly realizes. It is her weapon against the organization that will band together in an attempt to stop her. She knows they will try. They _will_ do whatever it takes to maintain their own power, power she has suddenly and accidentally, seized. She finds it ironic that those far away in their own Chantries will never understand her reasoning to aid the Inquisition, that she does not stay for the same power they so covet. 

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” His voice brings her out of her thoughts once again. Damn that voice. Even knowing what she does about him, it still affects her in the same manner. That almost makes it worse. She silently curses her traitorous body before replying.

“I’m not the Herald of anything. Particularly Andraste.” She says in an act of defiance. Just because she knows she will need this title, doesn’t mean she wants it. She will not allow them to think she can be idly swept up into the Chantry’s rules, into a religion not her own. She will not bow to a system that wants to neutralize her for being born as she was.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.” His eyes simmer as he watches her, as if he is amused by her rejection of the Andrastean faith.

The meeting continues on as the Inquisition’s advisors and Cassandra do most of the talking and planning. She is surprised when they ask her to travel to the Hinterlands in order to speak to a member of the faith, a Mother Giselle. She is not completely sure how yet another Chantry cleric will aid them. Her immediate thoughts shoot straight to the infamous Roderick, but at least they are giving her a place to start. With a sigh, she once again lifts her hand to twist her fingers into her hair and immediately remembers the last time she tried that. In a panic, she moves her hand to rub the back of her neck in an effort not to look the fool.

As she looks up, she freezes momentarily before dropping her arm. The look the Commander is giving her is rather - possessive. It frightens and thrills her at the same. What exactly did she do to deserve that? Cassandra calls an end to the session before her embarrassment can fully manifest and Sarenna promptly turns on her heel, leaves the room, and makes her way to exit the Chantry as fast as she can. She doesn’t even stop to think of how rude she appears to them. She simply needs to get out of there and away from them. Away from _him_.

She does her best not to gasp as she steps out into the late afternoon air. The silence is a blessing. Snow is still gently falling, however it is still clear that daylight is quickly fading. She wonders just how time managed to pass so quickly while they discussed the Inquisition’s tactics and options. Sarenna wants nothing more than to make her way back to her cabin in order to try and make sense of everything she’s experienced since waking that day. She needs time to herself, and is thankful that she at least has a space to call her own for the time being. She takes the first few steps in the direction of her temporary sanctuary, when another thought strikes her.

Solas.

Of everyone she has met since the destruction of the Conclave, he is perhaps the only one she is comfortable trusting. She quickly approaches the closest solder she can spot, who immediately starts to bow before her. The village of Haven is not large, but she does not want to wander around lost if she can help it. Once she has convinced the young man, almost a boy really, that there is no need for such displays, she is able to ask her question. Sarenna is troubled but not surprised that she has to end up referring to Solas as the other elven Apostate.

With directions in hand, so to speak, she is on her way. Her footsteps are quick and light on the freshly fallen snow, the events of the day are catching up with her, causing adrenaline to course through her. It only takes a few minutes to find the other elf. He stands looking out towards the Breach from between two buildings. Her pace slows as she approaches, until she finally stops only a few steps away from him. His back is turned towards her, and suddenly she isn’t sure how to address him. Much like the first time she met him, before stabilizing the Breach, she can feel power emanating from him. It is strong. Stronger than any mage she has ever met. It is also old, Sarenna doesn’t know how else to explain the sensation. It doesn’t make any sense to her. He physically appears to be much younger than what the whisper of his magic suggests.

“The Breach will doom this world if we are not able to close it.” His voice is soothing, calm. He is still faced away from her, staring at the hole in the sky, but is clearly aware of her presence. She assumes he can feel her power, just as she can feel his. “I only hope we will be able to prevent that.”

Solas turns towards her then, and her heart stops for a moment. His eyes. There is something about his eyes. She furiously tries to sift through her memories, trying to pinpoint exactly why she should be so familiar with them. Something urges her that it is important, and yet she can think of nothing. There is no reason why she should feel this urgency. Sarenna tries to calm herself before speaking, she is surprised at how quickly her anxiety manifested in such a short time.

“As long as your theories continue to prove true, and we are able to gather the appropriate resources, I’m sure we will.” Her panic leaves her just as suddenly as it came. She swears she can feel the feather light touch of magic against her skin, but that suddenly seems like the most absurd thing she can think of. All she feels is an aura of serene energy. It is wonderful. It is perfect. She takes a breath and smiles at the elf in front of her. He is no threat to her. He can be trusted unconditionally, unlike the humans that surround them. _He_ is the calm at the center of the storm.

“It is good to hear of your faith in my ideas Sarenna.” He motions for her to stand beside him as he turns back towards the Breach, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Ren.” She takes the few steps forward and joins him as he continues to stare up towards the sky. “Those close to me call me Ren.”

“As you wish, Ren.”

“I’m glad you found your way here Master Solas. Even if it seems selfish, it makes it easier for me to bare this burden with a fellow Dalish close by.” She lifts her palm, exposing the green mark that pushed her to the forefront of this disaster.

The elf next to her brakes his gaze away from the Breach and stares at her outstretched hand. “I do not count myself among the Dalish. I was born far to the north, much farther than any Dalish would roam.”

_That might explain his lack of Vallaslin,_ she thinks. It confused her when she first encountered him, when Cassandra had all but dragged her to the Breach in their first attempt to close it. She felt his power then, but when she stopped to study him, his face was bare like all the younger members of any Dalish clan.

Sarenna glances at him curiously. “Are not all free elves considered to be Dalish?”

“No! The Dalish barely grasp what it means to be descended from the elvhen. They try to emulate the culture of the ancient ones, but they are so far removed now. It is impossible for them to recapture what once was.” His voice is harsh.

“And how exactly would you know how dismally my people fail at being my people?” She almost growls out her response. She is not expecting this verbal attack.

His head turns sharply towards her, his eyes softening, realizing who he is speaking to. “My apologies _da’ sa._ I do not mean to offend. My isolation from others does not always allow me to practice my…” Solas pauses, search for the right word, “Diplomacy skill.” He turns to face her completely, looking down at her feet, as if unsure of himself. The silence stretches between them, but Sarenna does not mind. She is almost startled when he speaks again.

“ _Erelan._ I am a dreamer. I have walked the Fade. I know it in ways others cannot. And it has taught me much. I have seen days long gone past. I have seen great triumphs and the most heartbreaking of sorrows. I have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms. I have seen the true essence of the elvhen.”

Sarenna’s breath catches in her throat, her anger dissipating as quickly as all her other emotions. _Erelan_. It appears they have more in common than she originally thought. Solas was also a master of one of the ancient elvhen artforms. Although different than her own, it means he can possibly have access to information, knowledge. She is suddenly excited at the prospect of being able to learn, despite all the obstacles that stand in her way.

“Was it your travels in the Fade that brought you here?” She is curious, naturally. She wants to know everything he can tell her. Perhaps, just perhaps, he will be able to help her master her own dreams. Her own nightmares.

“Partially.” He studies her a moment. She feels as if he is able to see much more of her than she wants to reveal. Suddenly he smiles and bows. “ _Dirth’ena Enasalin._ ”

Her mouth drops open. 

“How-”

“The flow of your magic. It is similar to what I have experienced while dreaming in the Fade. You appear to have progressed quite far considering the artform is almost extinct.” He seems to be impressed. Very impressed.

“Thank you.” Sarenna isn’t sure how else to respond, and so she smiles. She realizes that she is actually happy that Solas knows of her hidden talents. Before she only assumed him to be a fellow Dalish mage, someone she could share the burden of apostate with. But now….. Now she knows she has an even stronger connection with him.

Her smile fades as she continues to keep his gaze. “I do not know if this will help us close the Breach.”

“If nothing else, the demons will fear your spirit blade.” 

Sarenna reaches out and lightly touches his shoulder in thanks before turning to leave. As her feet carry her forward, away from Solas, she looks down at her hands, purposely turning her palms down so that she doesn’t have to look at the mark. There is dirt and grime on her skin and in her finger nails. A bath, she desperately needs a bath. She thinks of the tub in her cabin, she will need to put that to use soon. Speaking with Solas helped ease some of her nerves, however what she really needs now is solitude. And a bath.

She lets her mind wander as she lazily makes her way down the stairs. Thinking about how soothing the hot water will feel on her surprisingly sore muscles, she almost screams when she turns the corner of the building and walks straight into someone. Strong arms reach out and settle onto her shoulders to steady her. She looks up and almost screams again as she realizes just who she’s collided with. As she makes eye contact with him, she wonders what it is about his eyes that makes her want to continue gazing into them. The moment stretches out longer than it should, and Sarenna starts to shiver as she realizes his hands are still on her shoulders. His gloves are barely making contact, but it is enough that she can feel the strength that lies coiled in them. At once he seems to realize where his arms are, and awkwardly lets go of her. She takes a small step back, unable to break away her gaze just yet.

_I should turn and leave. This is inappropriate. He is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. He does not need me to waste his time like this. I cannot trust him. He is human. He is a Templar!_

“My apologies Commander-”

“I’m sorry Herald-”

Their voices crash together at the same time. She shivers again as she feels the song wrap around her. For a moment she thinks she feels something more, as if a sliver of magic is hiding beneath the song, but she brushes the thought away as she does her best to break herself out of the trance she has fallen into again.

“I was just heading this way….” She can’t seem to think of a complete sentence.

“Yes, of course. Do not let me keep you.”

They clumsily maneuver around each other and Sarenna forces herself to stare straight ahead in order to stop herself from turning her head back towards him. The thrum of the song becomes less and less with each step, and she silently wonders why she didn’t feel it the first place. It isn’t until she reaches the cabin that she finally allows herself to relax. She pinches the bridge of her nose while leaning against the door once she is inside. This cannot continue, whatever this is. After a few deep breaths she looks up to see the tub still in the corner. It is most certainly time for that bath.

It does not take her very long to to find someone who will help fill the tub with hot water. Sarenna thanks them and as soon as the door is shut behind them, she walks towards the steaming water while working the buttons and ties her garments. One by one, each article of clothing is dropped to the floor, a line of laundry leading towards the tub. She sighs as one foot, then the other test the water before she submerges herself. She rests her head back along the edge for a minutes before reaching for the bar of soap. It isn’t until she looks down that she sees two circular bruises on her chest.

Now just where did those come from?

* * *

####  Solas

* * *

Solas watches as Ren turns away and leaves. With his arms braced behind his back, he studies her lithe figure while she saunters towards the stairs. He’s learned many things from their brief meeting. She is a powerful mage, a very powerful mage. He suspects that she does not fully understand her own strength. She most certainly does not completely grasp what it means to study the ancient arts, and yet he sensed that she knows this. Good. He at least has a starting point with which to train her further. A promise was made to protect her, and he will do so in every manner possible.

He has seen a glimpse of her nightmares, both in the Fade and outside it. They are strong memories that she keeps close, and they are painful. She will need to address those, and soon, or _He_ will be able to find her with ease and torture her at _His_ pleasure without her ever knowing. Solas dares not enter her dreams again. He has already risked burying her memories once, and he does not wish to make a habit of it. There is a very difficult path in front of her, and he will not make it harder if he can help it. The Dreamer is surprised as he watches Sarenna collide with Commander Cullen. One eyebrow rises as he witnesses the interaction take place.

Interesting.

It is common knowledge the Commander suffers from nightmares. The worst kept secret in the Inquisition camp. Perhaps their shared secrets can be put to use. Solas does not relish the thought of a connection between Sarenna and the Commander, between elf and human, but there is much at stake. It is possible that they will be able to aid each other. He reaches for the power that lives deep within him. His lips barely move as he whispers the words and watches as the faint glowing lines of the binding only he can see, settle overtop both of them. His power is ancient, and he has become a master of his craft. The magic flares a moment and neither of them show any signs that they have felt the touch of power as the spell is completed.

His lips twitch up into a smirk while watching the Commander awkwardly walk away from Sarenna. The Chantry believes the Templars to be the key to and mastering and suppressing all magic. It believes they can rid the world of magic’s influence. If the Commander is unaware of the magic that now binds him, then the Chantry has failed in that regards. It will take more than an army of Templars to stop him. However he hopes it will be enough to stop _Him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i'm totally going to be the type of author that I hate, the one that has no set publication dates. Sorry, not sorry. Hope you guys enjoyed this, and I "should" have the next chapter up sooner. Maybe. I hope.
> 
> Translations:  
>  da' sa - little one  
>  Erelan - Dreamer  
>  Dirth’ena Enasalin - Arcane Warrior


	3. Fade Walkers

* * *

####  Cullen 

* * *

It is always a gamble to fall asleep at night. Cullen never knows if he will sleep through the hours, or if his memories will replay over and over again, until he is finally able to claw his way to consciousness. Most of his soldiers think he rarely sleeps because of his dedication to his work, when in reality he is only putting off the inevitable. In the end, sleep always finds him. This night it seems Cullen has given up trying to finish any more work for the Inquisition. But even lying in a bed does not make him feel as if he is guaranteed rest. Nothing can assure him he will not be transported back to that awful place. His only consolation is he knows he will not remember the vivid details in the morning, as they quickly vanish, like the fog in the morning sun.

He stares up at the roof of the cabin that has been his ‘home’ for only a few short weeks. It’s likely that he will be well acquainted with the rickety, wooden structure since it doesn’t seem as if the Inquisition will be leaving any time soon. The light from the candle next to his bed flickers, making the shadows dance across the ceiling. He watches them a moment longer before deciding that he might as well get this night over with. Too much has happened this day, and whether or not he actually gets rest, he still needs to try. Cullen leans over to blow out the candle, then settles down into the stiff mattress. As he closes his eyes, visions of one redheaded elf permeates his mind. The sole survivor of the Conclave. The Dalish Mage. The Herald of Andraste. Sarenna Lavellan.

He doesn’t need a distraction like her. He doesn’t want her to become a problem for him. But it appears his needs and wants are irrelevant. It is bad enough the Conclave has been destroyed, that the tensions between the mages and the Templars now flare higher than ever before. It is already enough that the Divine has been killed and all senior Chantry clergy have perished with her. It is more than enough that there is a hole in the sky, and they have no clear way of fixing it. He has enough troubles and responsibilities to last a lifetime. The sheer enormity of the situation almost makes him wish he’d stayed in Kirkwall. Almost, but not quite.

Cassandra’s offer had been exactly what he needed, when he needed it. The position she offered him would be his repentance and his salvation. As Knight-Captain, he would always have his sins hanging over his head, but as the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, he can begin to repair some of the wrongs he has wrought. He can begin to change, and become the kind of man he wants to be. Not the angry, ruthless Templar. Not the man who is afraid every time a mage sneezes. Not the man who expects abominations to burst through every door. And most assuredly, not the man who hunts down apostates while telling himself it is for everyone’s own good. These things he will put to rest.

But then he saw her, and his heart stopped.

Maker she looks just like…

No.

There has only been one other time he’s felt anything close to this… infatuation, you could call it. That was a different time, a different place. And yet those memories are still so fresh. The similarities between them are uncanny. Their height, the angle of their eyes, the shape of their lips. Above all it is their hair. Except where Valwyn’s had been a fiery orange, the Herald’s, Sarenna’s, is a deep red, rich and coppery. He’d wanted so badly to remove his gloves and feel the tresses between his fingers, feel the short silken strands against his skin. He stared too much, for too long. He knows the others noticed, and yet he was unable to help himself. Perhaps he will be able to get some sleep, and Maker willing, he will have enough willpower in the morning to act with the integrity that he should.

His own wandering thoughts distract him. He doesn’t know when exactly he’s fallen asleep, but the sounds of footsteps compel him to open his eyes. His stomach starts to wind up into knots. It appears there will be no rest for him tonight. He curses what little lyrium is left in his veins that allows him to remain aware at night. He stands in the belly of Kinloch Hold, and yet not Kinloch Hold. Things in his nightmares are never quite right, never quite the way they should be. The darkness is oppressive, only broken by rays of moonlight through the window slits. The humidity makes it hard to breathe. There are bodies scattered around him, there is blood and gore splashed onto the floor and walls, there are demons coming for him. He kneels down in his Templar uniform and begins to recite the chant under his breath as he closes his eyes. It is all he can ever do. He senses through his eyelids as Uldred’s light barrier comes up around him, his prison. And so his terrors being again.

Cullen cringes as he hears something crash against the barrier, this is how it starts. He prays louder, the verse of the chant the only thing keeping his terror from completely taking over. This is what has shaped him into the man he no longer wishes to be. Another crash against the barrier. He prays louder still. He knows not all mages succumb to the demons from the Fade. And yet the ones that do can do terrible, terrible things. The next crash makes the floor shake. Tears slip out of the corners of his eyes as he raises his voice again. It will happen soon, the barrier will fall and they will taunt him, tease, seduce him. They will play with his mind and trick him, make him wish he had died with the others. Oh the things they will do to him. Hi body starts to shake simply knowing what is coming. It makes it worse, he thinks, that he knows what will happen next.

Worse still, what is left of his Templar abilities does not work in this nightmare. He is sure that it was only the lyrium in his blood that saved him. All the others had fallen, one by one. Their fear making them fooling and easy targets for the demons and abominations. He had been the last, he had watched every single one of his brother’s and sister’s in ams make the same mistake. If anything their suffering spared his life. It allowed him to dampen the effects of the torture, not enough to banish the monsters, but enough that he lived after they were finished with him. He knows he will live through this nightmare. The demons will not kill him, not when they can play with him over and over, night after night. But the one thing he had drawn on for strength is gone now. And it makes the terror that much worse.

The largest crash yet shakes him, and the barrier comes down. They will swarm him. Their hands are sometimes clawed, grotesque and razor sharp. Sometimes they take the shape of _her_ hands. The desire demons love to take _her_ shape. She was his shame, and they used it against him. They continue to use it against him. He was beyond mortified when it had actually been her who rescued him. At first he thought her another trick, but in the end, it had been the mage, Valwyn Surana, who had saved the Templar. He shudders while remembering his request to her, his despicably desperate request.

Cullen waits for the demons. He waits for their touch, it always comes.

But not tonight.

He dares not open his eyes. They are tricking him, they have found a new way to play with him. They want to catch him off guard.

He thinks he can hear shouting, as if from a distance. That is new. What game are they playing at now? The shouting intensifies, as if more voices are joining in, but the sound does not come any closer. With the demon’s continued absent touch, his curiosity finally overrides his fear. He slowly opens his eyes and is startled by what he sees.

This is not the nightmare he is used to. The wooden floors of Kinloch Hold are still beneath him, the wall to his right is still standing, but the rest of the fortress is missing. Before him is a grassy field. A field filled with the scenes of a battle. He strains his eyes trying to get a better view of the fighting in the early evening light. What kind of trick is this? Cullen stands up from his position and reaches for his sword. Never before has he seen the likes of this in his dreams. He takes a few steps forward, unsure of how this nightmare will proceed. For the first time in over a decade, he does not know what will transpire.

He stands in place long enough to decide that no demons will appear. Without thinking further he begins to run towards the fighting in front of him. At least joining in the fray will help pass the time until he awakes, he hopes. It isn’t until he gets closer to the mass of people that he realizes why some of the figures move strangely.

Darkspawn.

Why is he dreaming of darkspawn?

Before he can piece that answer together, he enters the throng of fighters. Cullen brings his sword up in the time to block a blade. The fighting engulfs him and he welcomes it if it means he will not have to relive the horrors of the Tower. He becomes lost in the fighting, killing darkspawn after darkspawn. It isn’t until he kills the third one that he notices the people they are attacking aren’t human. They are elves. He can see the line of landships they travel in, some of them are on fire. 

Dalish elves. Why are Dalish elves fighting darkspawn in his nightmare?

He is curious about what has caused his nightmare to change from his usual haunt. As he fights, he tries to make his way towards the landships. No, the aravels. The elves call them aravels. He can see a group of elves gathered by one that is not consumed in flames. As he continues to move forward, Cullen hears a distinct cry to his right. He turns to look and sees two female elves kneeling over someone. Both of their heads are bent low, their long red hair is draped over their faces. A number of elves appear to be protecting them, keeping the darkspawn away as best they can.

Without a second thought, Cullen changes direction and makes his way towards them. As he nears he can see their bodies shake as they cry. One of them leans over and smooths her hands over the man’s face, her fingers shaking as she tries to memorize the feel of his skin. Cullen is close enough to see the elf’s eyes glazed over in death. The second woman throws herself onto the man’s torso, her sobs making her body shudder even harder. The scene before him cuts him in a way he doesn’t understand. There elves are mourning their dead in the middle of a battle. It is one of the most heartbreaking things he has ever witnessed. It is one of the most dangerous things he has ever witnessed.

One of the elves protecting the pair of mourners lets out a warning shout as more darkspawn slip past them. The elf who has thrown herself over the body grabs the daggers out of the dead elf’s hands and jumps up to defend the other woman. She slashes and parries in an expert manner, as if she was born with those weapons in her hands. The darkspawn fall to the side, no longer a threat. But there are more, so many more that are. The elf drops the daggers and bends down, reaching for the other redhaired woman. He can tell that she is urging her to leave the body. Cullen feels another twist in his gut as he approaches them. Before he can say anything, the elf leans over and places a kiss on the dead man’s lips then pushes herself up and twirls away, motioning and yelling for the others to follow her

The second woman stoops low to pick up the daggers she dropped. Before she can stand again, Cullen shouts out to her. He watches as she freezes for a moment and then slowly turns towards him. He does not recognize the face that stares back at him with wide open eyes. However it is clear from the way she freezes at the sight of him that she certainly knows who he is.

“Why are you here?” The faintest memory stirs within him, however her voice is distorted by grief and confusion, and Cullen is not sure where he’s heard it before. He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and raises his own blade to block another attack. He quickly deals with the darkspawn and turns back towards her. She is still staring at him, her body locked in place.

“ _How_ are you here?” Her voice is clearer now, and demands that he answer. A vision of a woman with cropped red hair looking at him from across a table while she rubs the back of her neck enters his mind for a split second.

It is her. Sarenna.

Her hair is long, her face years younger, the scar on her left temple is non-existent. Her violet eyes are bright with tears. The tattoos on her cheeks are noticeably swollen and red, as if she has only just received them. But it _is_ her, there is no denying this.

He looks just past her and sees yet another of the beasts march up behind her. He starts to move to intercept the Genlock, but before he can get very far, Sarenna, the younger version of Sarenna, spins around, knives flashing against the rays of the setting sun, and deals with the monster in a few swift motions. Cullen wonders just exactly how a mage became so proficient with a pair of daggers.

“Nevermind! They will arrive soon. Come!” She transfers the daggers to one hand and holds out the other to him. He stares at her palm, the palm that should have a green, glowing slash across it. And yet it isn’t there, as if the incident at the Temple of Sacred Ashes never happened. She shakes her hand at him, becoming impatient.

Without another thought he rushes around the body of the fallen elf and grasps her hand in his. There is little time to revel in the surprise bliss he feels from the simple act, as she takes off at a run with him in tow. They run towards the last of the aravels that are still being guarded by the rest of the clan. The darkspawn swarm them around them, it seems there is no end in their numbers. They stop numerous times to dispatch those creatures that stumble into their path. Each time the swing of his blade or the quick stabbing motions of her daggers put an end to the threats.

As they begin to run forward once more, Cullen looks up and sees movement further down the field. Another company is rushing towards the fighting. By the time they reach the aravels, the newcomers have attracted the attention of many of the darkspawn, and they break off to engage the new host. Cullen rocks to a stop before he collides with the elf who has lead him this far. She spins on him, her eyes dancing quickly over his frame. Her brows draw together.

“You should not be here.” Her voice is low, as if talking to herself. “How did you get here?!” She is so close to him, it is easy to see the distress carved into her features, to hear the panic in her voice.

“I….I don’t know.” His own voice is shaky at best. How exactly is she in _his_ nightmare? How did it change from his torture to this strange event?

The shouting intensifies behind them and she turns her head, her hair flaring out dramatically behind her.

“The Wardens are here!” She seems to sag in relief, however she does not stand still for long. Sarenna takes off at a run once more towards the fighting. Cullen takes off after her, realizing immediately that she didn’t pick the daggers off the ground. He is still confused why she hasn’t used magic to defend herself here.

His confusion only multiplies as he runs. He can see the fighting ahead, but it seems to be fading? Everything except for Sarenna gathers mist, obscuring it from view. The two of them slow to a stop as the landscape around them disappears, replaced by barren ground and more mist. Cullen watches as the fog rolls between them, almost cutting them off, but still allowing him to reach her. She turns back towards him, her expression making it obvious that she is just as confused as he. They stand a moment staring at one another.

“What is happening?” He demands.

“I don’t know….” her voice drifts off as her eyes begin to dart erratically as she tries to look everywhere at once.

Cullen feels the panic begin to unfurl within him. It starts in his chest and he does everything he can to keep from shaking as it travels into his belly, and down into his limbs. A thought strikes him suddenly. _This_ is the trick. The demons _have_ gone through his memories, have conjured her up, and once he lets his guard down they will strike. Well, they have have toyed with him enough! He is no longer bound helpless by the memory of the Tower, the memory of Kinloch Hold. He has enough fight in him, he _will_ conquer this demon here and now. His expression turns to ice and without any other warning be begins to advance on her. She begins to step backwards through the mist, but his strides are longer. Within an instant, he catches her by the arm and brings his sword up towards her face.

“Com- What are you doing?!” Her voice is frightened. The demon is good, the demon is _very_ good, but he will not let it fool him any more.

“No more lies _Demon_! This ends now! I will be your plaything no longer.” His breathing is hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest, the thrill, or is it fear, of the encounter making him light headed.

She becomes very still within his grasp as he brings the sword to her neck. He is taking no more chances. He watches her eyes focus on his, those violet eyes that left him transfixed in the Chantry. The reminder of Surana hit him like a brick wall, and he was almost ashamed at the desire he immediately felt. He knows she is not Valwyn. And yet, he still wants her. Something about her called to him. It thrilled him. It frightened him. And deep within himself, he knows he will not be able to turn away from her, to let her go. The demons are clearly quick to adapt. It is the only thing that makes sense. The only reason why they would choose her to torment him.

“Commander Cullen.” She speaks slowly, trying to keep her voice stable. “I am no demon. Our dreams have crossed in the Fade. I do not know how this is possible, but-”

“SILENCE!” His shout surprises even himself as it echoes off the mist around them. He places his sword against her skin now. He can feel her begin to tremble in his grasp as the blade bites into her flesh, blood welling on the spot. It comes out a deep, dark red, a stark contrast against the fairness of her skin. Her eyes move from his, towards the blade at her neck.

“Commander. You need to control your fear, or you will attract a demon.” She continues to struggle keeping her voice steady, but doesn’t move within his hold. He can see her chest heaving with every breath she takes. His eyes wander over the curves of her breasts as they rise and fall, and his lust blossoms. She is a desire demon. He is sure of it.

“Another word and I will kill you demon!” He doesn’t bother keeping his voice level. “You will not deceive me again. You cannot take on another form and think that I will fall under your spell. My desires are my own, and you will not use them against me!” He can feel her stiffen. Good. Perhaps soon it will reveal its true form and he will be able to vanquish it. For the first time he can remember, he feels like he is in control of his dreams.

“Your mistakes betray you, demon.” Venom drips from his words. Cullen feels powerful in this moment. All this time they tortured him. All this time he had been helpless. All this time…

Now. He will finish this now. He brings his arm back, briefly taking the pressure of the sword off of her, off the demon’s neck. Her eyes open wide as she catches sight of the sword coming towards her exposed flesh. One moment Cullen has the demon in his grip, the next he feels an intense cold burst through his body and his hand grasps only air. He shivers violently as the cold steals the air from his lungs. The shout that tries to make it past his lips comes out as a gasp instead. The sound of something large hitting the ground behind and a grunt, urges him to turn and look, but he finds that the cold makes him unable to move. He is not even aware that he dropped his sword until his body forces him to double over and his face comes within a few inches of the steel as it lays on the ground. A layer of frost encases the weapon, making it sparkle with a light blue sheen. He watches as his breath comes out in white puffs, as if the temperature of the air has fallen. It feels like both an eternity and only a moment that he kneels shivering on the ground. By the time Cullen is able to breathe without his lungs searing from the cold, he finds that he too is covered in a layer of ice crystals. They make a fine crackling sound, line breaking china, as he does his best to move his limbs.

Finally able to turn his head, he sees the mist has cleared a path behind him. He has a clear view of her, the demon, as she lays on her side. She too is covered in ice crystals. He can barely make out the sound of them cracking against one another as she visibly shivers on the ground. With great effort, he stands, the ice falling off his body and crashing beside his feet. He is cold. So cold. But he has the advantage. It must be now. Cullen bends over to pick up sword, his eyes never leaving her. The cold burns his hand, but he ignores it. He is sluggish as he walks forward in his templar uniform. He wishes the heavy plate gone. Of all the strange things to happen in this nightmare, he does not even think twice when the armor instantly fades away, leaving him in training leathers.

It takes him only a few steps to make his way to her shivering form. He cannot stop himself as his eye wonder over her, taking in every curve. Even covered in ice and lips blue from the cold, he is unable to stop thinking of the things he wants to do with her. He rages against his own thoughts. It is the desire demon. It has to be the desire demon. If he waits any longer, his wants will consume, and he will be lost to the desire demon. He places his foot against her shoulder and pushes her over, so that she looks up at him. She continues to shiver, but her eyes open wide at the sight of him, some of the ice around them falling away from the small movement. Cullen lifts his sword once more and points it towards her.

“Leave her form demon. Your game is done.”

There is no response. Her eyes close and he swears that tears slip free, only to instantly freeze upon her skin. Very well. It refuses to give up, refuses to acknowledge that he will not accept whatever bargain it has concocted for him. He has no wish to dispatch the demon while it wears her likeness, but it appears the demon is giving him no choice. He hefts his sword in both hands, preparing to slam it down into the vile creature at his feet. 

“Cullen! You need to stop!” Her words are faint. The terror in them however, is clear as day.

It makes him pause.

No! This _is_ a desire demon. He needs to finish this before it drags on any longer.

The screech in the distance freezes his arms in place even faster than the ice had. Cullen knows the sound of a Terror demon. There were plenty of them to fight after the explosion destroyed the Conclave. He learned quickly the places the strike the with his sword, which spots would sustain the most damage. But that was outside his nightmares. Facing a Terror demon in his dreams is a new experience. It is not one of his regular night time visitors. He looks down again at the figure before him and sees her struggling to break the ice that encases her body. The screech sounds again, closer, and he realizes his chance has escaped him.

With a sharp twist, the ice falls from the demon’s body. Cullen notes the shards surrounding her are much thicker that those he shook off. His observations distract him, and ultimately cost him the precious seconds he needs to avoid the lightly glowing green pool that appears beneath his feet. A moment later, both of them fly through the air as the Terror demon bursts forth from underneath them.

Cullen curses as his back hits the ground. Maker’s Breath, this night is full of surprises, and none of them good ones. He flips onto his front and quickly crawls the few feet to his weapon. The grip is no longer frozen, and it feels good to hold the steel. He smiles to himself, almost giddy with the knowledge that his fears are not controlling him. The Terror demon’s scream comes from his left and he is hard pressed to roll out of the way before razor sharp talons descend and sink into the ground where he’d been not a moment before. As the horrifying creature struggles momentarily to free itself, Cullen sees his chance and lunges up, aiming his blade between what he assumes are the demon’s shoulder blades.

As the sword sinks in halfway, the monster screams in agony, but it isn’t banished quite yet. Before he can pull his weapon free, the beast spins around, knocking him backwards while racking those talons across his face. Blood dribbles from the wounds into his eyes, making it difficult to see. Instinct tells him to move, and he hastily pushes himself backwards. Once more the demon misses him by mere inches. Cullen wipes the blood from his face as he quickly gets to his feet. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he swears he can feel his body pulse with each beat. His eyes are clear for the moment, and he can see the his sword lodged into the demon’s back. He watches as it swings slightly every time the monster moves.

He has two demons to kill and no weapon. His eyes narrow as his mind calculates the best way to retrieve his blade from its current resting place. In the few seconds he has, a variable he hasn’t considered comes into play. The demon masquerading as Sarenna shouts, causing the Terror demon to spin about once more. Cullen can hear as her blades hiss through the air before he sees the flash of the daggers she wields in her hands. The lesser demon jerks once as she finds her mark. His Templar sword virtually presents itself to him as the creature sinks to its knees, the blow of the daggers having hit the vital place needed to vanquish the beast.

Cullen snatches his weapon with ease and watches as the terror demon falls to the ground between Sarenna and himself. Between the desire demon and himself. She glances up at him with those dagger in her hands, her chest still heaving and exertion, but looking rather smug.

_Now_. His chance is now.

He leaps from the ground and drives his sword through her chest.

She stiffens, her face becoming a mask of pain, shock and confusion.

“Begone demon.” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, with his lips almost against her ear. “Do not think to tempt me with her again.”

He twists the blade and watches as her eyes glaze over and she crumples to the ground beside the other demon. However unlike the other demon, her form begins to disappear. Within seconds the only sign that she had ever been there is the blood covering his sword. Cullen frowns, not understanding why one demon would fade, while the other continues to lay at his feet.

At least he’s managed to deal with both demons. He’s finally taken control of his night terrors. Perhaps the rest of his nights will no longer be the burden they used to be. Perhaps he will be able to actually rest when the sun sets, like a normal person, and just sleep. The thought of waking refreshed and alert in the morning is foreign to him, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Finally after years and years he doesn’t need to be frightened of the simple act of falling asleep. His past can finally be put to rest. It will take some getting used to, he assumes his current nocturnal habits will be hard to break. But given time he is sure his unconscious thoughts will be able to let his consciousness know that the threats are over. 

Cullen takes a deep breath while staring down at the sword that rests at his feet. He reaches down to pick up the blade, but stops as he notices the mist rolling towards him, obscuring everything as it did earlier in his nightmare. His fingers quickly wrap around the hilt and he takes a defensive stance incase another demon should manifest. The fog comes in close. It becomes dense. Within seconds he cannot make out his hands in front of him. And then just as suddenly, it begins to clear. It floats away as if it had never been there in the first place and leaves his heart racing in his chest. He stands in the belly of Kinloch Hold, and yet not Kinloch Hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK got this one out a little bit sooner, but I don't think by much. Hope you guys enjoy it. I know its a little dark, but I'm a little dark.


	4. Distance

* * *

####  Sarenna 

* * *

Sarenna descends the steps of the horse Master’s home. Dennet has the horses the Inquisition needs, but is loathe to part with them while threats to his home remain. The herald looks at the crude map in her hands, marking the locations of the requested watchtowers. They will need to find these places and mark the land for Inquisition troops. The sooner those towers are built, the sooner the Inquisition can get it’s much needed horses. The trek on foot to the Hinterlands was nothing Sarenna wasn’t already used to. However she is no longer wandering the wilderness with her clan at a leisurely pace, she is assisting the Inquisition, and the organization's needs will have to be dealt with quickly. The horses are vital.

“Cassandra, how fast do you think we can get those towers up once we’ve gotten word back to Haven?” She inquires.

“I am not sure.” The Seeker comes to stand beside Sarenna, and looks down at the map. “It will depend on where our current resources are being put to use. We will need to speak with Commander Cullen on our return.”

Sarenna shivers at the mention of the Commander. She can still see the fear and anger in his eyes, can still feel the blade as it pierces her chest. She does her best to keep herself calm, and counts herself lucky that she didn’t see him again before they left for the Hinterlands. However that luck will not last once they return. She thought putting distance between them would help, but if the mention of his name sends her into a panic, she can’t imagine what seeing him again will do. Sarenna folds the map quickly before Cassandra can see that her hands are starting to shake.

“It’s probably best that we get started on this right away. Those towers will still take time to construct, and until then, we’ll continue to suffer from a lack of mounts.”

“I think you’ve got your priority backwards ther Herald,” Varric’s voice chimes as he steps off the last stair, “We know where those towers are supposed to go. Now the wolves on the other hand, they could be anywhere.”

“If what mistress Elaina said was true, then we should have no trouble finding the wolves. They will simply come to us.” Solas’ calm, melodic voice comes from her left.

“Then we’ll get those tower locations first, and hope we stumble across some angry bundles of fur along the way.” She turns to face all three of her companions and smiles. Varris snorts at her terrible attempt at a joke, but the other two stare at her stone faced. She sighs while walking backwards, and hangs her head for a moment. “Right. This way then.”

Trying her best not to smack her forehead at her own foolishness, Sarenna picks up her pace as she turns around and heads back towards the main road. She expected Solas to keep his emotions guarded, it is simply his nature. The Seeker on the other hand, now there is a woman she can not seem to maneuver. Sarenna reminds herself not for the first time, to put her distrust of humans aside. She is in service to her goddess, and that service demands closing the the Breach and finding those responsible. Only then will she be able to serve Justice to those affected. While Cassandra believes in the Maker instead of Mythal, her goal is the same. And yet despite their shared goal and Sarenna’s attempts to put aside her prejudices, she does not seem to be able to say anything right around the Nevarran. She does not think she has even seen Cassandra smile once since she met her. Any attempt at getting along with the Seeker has been rebuffed. But at least her situation isn’t as dire as the one between Cassandra and Varric.

It is rare for the two _not_ to be exchanging insults or even outright arguing. The entire journey to the Hinterlands was one long pissing contest between them. Sarenna can recall more than one occasion where she turned to Solas with eyes wide open in disbelief at the things coming out of their mouths. The two elves have become quite adept at silent communication while Varric and Cassandra continue to find new lows in their dislike for each other. Despite the vitriol that exists between the two, Sarenna finds it surprising how well they fight as a team when needed. Perhaps they imagine they are killing each other.

“That is curious.” The Seeker’s voice breaks through Sarenna’s thoughts. She stops and turns towards the Seeker who is pointing towards the cliffs behind the Horse Master’s farm.

At first Sarenna sees nothing. She takes a step back towards Cassandra, and there! She sees a flash of... something. Both women turn to look at each other and nod their heads at once. She might not be able to find herself on Cassandra’s good side, but at least they continue to come to shared conclusions.

“Please don’t tell me you found something shiney Seeker. I didn’t take you to be that kind of girl.” Sarenna rolls her eyes at the obvious jab. Will those two ever be able to grow up?

“Varric!” The Herald can see Cassandra’s fists clench as they walk side by side towards the path that leads to the cliffs. “I should have left the dwarf imprisoned.” She mumbles only loud enough for the mage to hear.

Sarenna does her best to ignore both of them as she tries to catch another flash. The sunlight is shining off of something, and given the current situation in the Hinterlands, she is sure it’s worth investigating. The group quickly climbs the path up the cliffs, and the source of the flashes they saw becomes obvious.

“Huh. Would you look at that. You have my apologies Seeker. I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”

Sarenna smiles as she watches Cassandra rock to a halt, her face shocked by the unusually civil words coming from the rogue. Shaking her head, she reaches her arm up and finds a hold to pull herself up onto the boulder in front of her. The moss covering the cliff starts to crumble in her grip, but she hauls her body up the rock before it can become a problem. The Herald dusts off her legs before taking a step forward. She barely hears the others scrambling up behind her as she stares at the object before her.

A crystal skull.

The skull itself is odd, but not as odd as the whispers that fill her head. She stands transfixed as the voices murmur to her in a language she cannot understand. Sarenna frowns as she watches the skull begin to glow from within. It is all she can see, all she can hear.

The skull and the voices.

“Herald!” Cassandra’s voice is loud, so loud, and surprisingly concerned. She winces and hold her hands to her ears, as if that will somehow make the pain in her head go away.

“Ren. What is the matter?” Solas’ voice instantly soothes the needles that are doing their best to pierce her own skull.

Sarenna lets go of her head and looks up at her three companions as they tower over her, while vaguely wondering why she’s on the ground. Solas plants his staff into the stone and extends his free hand towards her. She looks up to him confused as he helps her to her feet.

“What is that thing?” She asks while motioning towards the mounted skull. The others look from her to the object behind them. “Can’t any of you hear it?” The whispered still tease her.

All three turn to look back at her. Only Solas doesn’t look at her as if she has completely lost her mind.

“Perhaps, something in the object is reacting to the mark, and thus you are able to interact with it in a way that we cannot?” He offers.

Sarenna takes that and runs with it. Well, really she takes a couple of steps, as she pushes past the others and approaches the skull. She lifts her hand and looks down to her palm. The green gash, that is now a permanent feature on her person, does not appear to react at all. The wound sparks and glows with every rift encounter. She is waiting for her arm to burn with the flames she can feel but never see. None of these things are happening now. The mark remains dormant.

She raises her hand and rests is on top of the skill.

The air is sucked out of her lungs as she shoots forwards into the air. She turns and tries to gasp, but cannot, as she sees her body frozen in place, outstretched arm resting on the artifact. Sarenna attempts to look at the mark on her hand once more, but as she has no corporeal form, there is nothing to see. She continues to fly away from the cliff, out behind Master Dennet’s farm.

A bright flash catches her attention and her flight is slowed just enough for her to see a crystal shard laying on the ground. As soon as she recognizes the location, whatever force has taken control of her vision whisks her off to another nearby location and again slows down as she spots a second crystal shard. She is shown three more shard before she is thrown back into her own body.

Sarenna gasps as she regains control of herself, her hand immediately leaving the skull as if it is causing her pain. The sense of vertigo threatens to overwhelm her and she nearly stumbles to the ground again. Firms hands grip her from behind and keep her upright as she continues to suck in air.

“What happened Ren?” Solas’s fingers tighten on her left arm while Cassandra’s continue to grip her right.

“I saw… Things” She takes another deep breath. “It showed me, something. I’m not sure, pieces of crystal. Shards. I know where they are, we just need to get to them.”

Sarenna shrugs off the hands that hold her and turns to face them. “I know where they are.” She repeats, if only to herself.

Cassandra does not look pleased. “Herald, our priority right now is to locate the-”

“I know Cassandra! They are close by, I promise you this will not take us out of our way. But I need to find them. I need…”

She isn’t sure what she needs exactly. Between, the explosion, stabilizing the Breach, taking on the mantel of Herald, her strange & fatal dream, and not to mention everything else that has transpired in the last two weeks, Sarenna really just wants a day to forget everything. A single day in order to put this massive jigsaw puzzle together, she wants to be able to see the bigger picture. How do the minor pieces she keeps picking up fit into it all. These shards, they are another minor piece, and for some reason she feels they are important. She can’t explain why, she just… knows.

“Hey, if the Herald says we need to find these shards of hers, then we’ll find them.” Varric states. The sincerity of his words help to dispel the look on the Seeker’s face.

“Thank you.” She isn’t sure if she is thanking Varric, or all of them, but she doesn’t want to stand around thinking about it any longer. Sarenna hops down from the boulder they stand on and purposely makes her way towards the first shard. She pulls out the map of the tower locations once more, wishing she had something with which to mark the shard locations as well. She can still envision them as she flew past, how they laid on the ground, every blade of grass surrounding them, every ray of of the sun as it struck the marbled surface. She can picture each one perfectly, but is afraid that the exact bearings will elude her given enough time. 

Lifting her head up from the map, she stares forward and notices the shadow of her staff as she walks. It isn’t really _her_ staff, just something Harrit, the blacksmith, was able to give to her on short notice. She was surprised he was able to supply her with the light armor and temporary weapon given the urgency with which she had tried to leave Haven. It didn’t take her long once she woke up from that awful nightmare to decide she would leave for the Hinterlands that very day. It was pure misfortune that she ran into Cassandra as the sun came over the horizon. The Seeker had demanded to know just where she was off to so early. Without revealing her real reasons, Sarenna somehow managed to convince the Seeker that she would be leaving that day, even without the scouting report Sister Leliana ordered. That heated conversation started another and in the end Sarenna marched out of Haven a few hours later with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas in tow. It was not how she pictured that morning going.

The staff in question however, sits strangely against her back. In her haste to be off, she didn’t bother to correct Harrit on her weapon of choice. She’d told him she needed something to fight with, and he’d immediately snatched the staff from where it was sitting against the back wall of the makeshift armory. The weight felt strange in her hands after so many years of fighting with her father’s daggers. Even the staff she’d used during the conclave had not felt _right_. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know how to use the weapon, in fact she was quite proficient with it, however it simply wasn’t the same as the magic infused blades.

“Your mind is elsewhere _lethallan_.” Solas’ voice startles her. Sarenna looks to her right as she continues forwards to see that the elf has caught up with her. 

“Yes.” She smiles. There’s no use hiding the obvious from him. “I should have learned to be more like my mother. You can never tell what she is thinking.” The words were meant to be light, but the sudden thought of her mother, and in turn her clan, brings new worries to mind. “I should have sent word before we left. The clan will assume I’ve perished once they hear the fate of the Conclave.” She watches as Solas’ face clouds over.

“I’m sure the Inquisition can muster the resources to find your clan.” 

She nods, hoping he is correct. They pass the next few minutes in silence. Sarenna can hear Cassandra’s armor creaking as she walks behind the two elves, and the swish of Varric’s leathers, who is even further back. The sounds are almost hypnotic and for a moment she is almost able to forget just why she’s walking through the Fereldan countryside. Her blissful ignorance comes to screaming halt as they approach the first _shard_. It looks different in “person”, it’s more of a tablet really. Sarenna stops when the shard is at her feet. The whispers, although not nearly as loud, come from this piece as well.

“I’m not sure what your people consider to be a shard Freckles, but last time I checked, that certainly isn’t it.” 

“It was different when I first saw it.”

“Are you sure this is in fact what you are looking for?” The Seeker sounds annoyed.

“I’m sure.” Sarenna doesn’t intend for her voice to have an edge to it, but comes out regardless. 

“Well what do you intend to do with this….thing?”

“Perhaps it is best if we collect it, and study it further once we return to Haven.” Solas suggests.

The Herald doesn’t wait for anymore opinions, and instead crouches down and lifts the crystal. The whispers stop immediately. It is surprisingly light, and Sarenna fits the item into her pack, then once more pulls out the map. She doesn’t take very long to collect her bearings, and decides which direction to head next. Without a word, she straightens herself up from the ground, and strides forward.

“Herald! Just where are you taking us now?!” It is clear that Cassandra's patience is wearing thin. Very thin. 

“We’re going to mark a tower location. And we’ll likely stumble across another of these artifacts along the way.” 

“We _do not_ have time to collect these treasure pieces! We must secure resources for the Inquisition and return to Haven in order to discuss Mother Giselle’s suggestion with the rest of our advisors.” 

Sarenna stares straight ahead as the Seeker continues to vocalize her thoughts on the current situation, and just what she believes they should be doing, and what order they should be doing it in. The mage realizes too late that she’s crumpled the map into her fist. She says nothing as Cassandra’s verbal onslaught persists. In an act of defiance, Sarenna deliberately turns left instead of right, leading them further away from both the future tower location and any more shards. If the Seeker thinks to merely use her as a figurehead for her Inquisition, then she is in for a very rude awakening. How dare she ask Sarenna to join them, ask her to help their cause, and then attempt to direct her every action. The longer the day wears on, the more she’s starting to understand Varric.

The group crosses a small stream and she barely notices her as footwear becomes waterlogged. As they climb out the opposite bank, she has to bite the inside of her cheek in order to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret to the Seeker. Mythal give her strength, if only so she doesn’t strangle the other woman. Sarenna doesn’t even know where they are heading anymore as the path before them begins to slope upward. Finally she’s had enough. Sarenna whirls around and opens her mouth to tell Cassandra just exactly what the Seeker can do with her opinions, but the words never leave her lips.

She and the Seeker stand still as stone. Cassandra’s eyes are no longer focused on the mage, instead it seems as if she is listening for something. The screaming that fills Sarenna’s head sets every nerve on edge.

“Templars!” Both she and Cassandra say simultaneously. The mage wonders only for a moment how the Seeker knows they are nearby, before releasing the staff from her back and wrapping her hands around the grip until her knuckles turn white. She can hear Solas and Varric take their cue and ready their weapons as well. The warrior beside her has her blade out and shield ready as the first of the Templars comes around the rock face ahead of them. He shouts as soon as he sees the group, and pulls his weapon free while he begins to charge towards them. It only takes seconds for another five Templars to come rushing in behind the first. 

Sarenna takes a few steps back as Cassandra takes a few forward. The mage casts a barrier around the woman. As much as she would like to pummel the Seeker herself, now is not the time let harm befall any of them. She lets go of the staff with one hand and summons forth a burst of cold, freezing the first Templar before it can reach Cassandra. With a flick of her wrist, she sets the staff in motion, bringing the weapon down over her head releasing the bursts of energy she can feel within it. 

Sarenna is relieved that the Seeker has finally decided to stop attempting to speak with the Templars. They stumbled upon various groups of Templars and rebel mages fighting each other as they’d neared the Crossroads a few days earlier. Cassandra tried her best to get both sides to stop and simply speak with them, however neither mages nor Templars had any intention of doing so. When one side had beaten other other, they started to focus their fighting efforts on the four of them and Sarenna and her companions were forced to fight for their lives.

Sarenna watches as Cassandra ignores the frozen Templar and charges straight into the next one closest to her. Three crossbow bolts appear to materialize instantly from the chest of one their attackers, and she can hear Bianca’s gears clink into place as Varric reloads, while she watches Solas’ spells fly past her. With a deep breath she takes the staff with both hands and runs through the motions her mother taught her as a child: over her shoulder, around to the right of her head, down again so the staff rests between her body and elbow, and then she plants the end into the ground with a flourish that sends a massive spark of electricity towards the whole group of attackers. She watches relieved as Solas summons another barrier around Cassandra, who remains unharmed by their magic.

Periodically she sees the Templars run around as if they are trying to put out flames, yet neither she or Solas are throwing fire balls. Two of the armored knights completely ignore the Seeker and rush their way towards the three figures hurling projectiles. Sarenna quickly draws an ice rune in the air in front of her before gathering it into her hand and throwing it onto the ground before them. She doesn’t wait for the ice mine to activate, and only trusts that her magic will detonate on time as she continues to spin the staff in front of her. The first Templar runs right across the faint blue lines that decorate the ground, however the second is less fortunate as pillars of ice rise up around it, effectively impaling the enemy. 

The herald draws on her energy and forces a personal barrier to appear around herself as the Templar closes the distance between them. She raises the staff before her, ready to knock the screaming woman back, when a bolt of lighting paralyzes her in place. Sarenna takes the opportunity to hurry backwards while flinging as many jolts of energy from the staff as she can. She hears a whoosh somewhere behind her and tendrils of smoke and powder enter her peripheral vision. Varric appears suddenly on top of the rock face to her right, Bianca fires away at the still paralyzed templar.

Sarenna looks past the enemy in front of her and sees Cassandra fighting the two remaining Templars. She notices the first man she froze starting to thaw, and renews the ice around him before Fade stepping closer to the Seeker and sending out a wave of energy which staggers the two warriors before them. It takes less than half a second for Cassandra to take advantage of the stun, and knocks down one of them before sinking her blade into him. Sarenna focuses on the other man sending attack after attack towards him from the staff. Another large lighting bolt descends from the sky paralyzing him at the same time that a bolt from Bianca manages to fit through the narrow eye slit in the man’s helmet. He drops instantly. The Herald spins around in time to watch as Cassandra charges forward with her shield raised into the remaining frozen Templar. The man shatters into a cascade of hundreds of small pieces.

Sarenna is stunned by the display in front of her, but also relieved that the screaming of the lyrium has stopped. 

“Ha! The only other warrior I’ve seen manage that was Broody. Too bad the idiot has an abhorrence towards working with mages.” Varric shouts from his perch.

“Varric we just killed these people and you’re impressed because one of them shattered?” 

“Calm down Freckles. First of all,” the dwarf jumps from the rock and lands with surprising grace while shouldering Bianca, “they attacked us. So technically, it was self defence.” 

Sarenna leans casually on the staff while Varric makes his way over to her.

“And secondly, you have to admit that was cool!” 

The herald simply stares deadfaced at the rogue, trying her hardest not to shake her head.

“It was not ‘cool’ Varric!” Cassandra does a terrible impression of the dwarf’s accent, “And you!”

The Herald glances over her shoulder and her eyes go wide as she notices the Seeker marching towards her in a non too friendly manner. At least her sword is sheathed. “What were you thinking bringing us this way?! This is nowhere near any of the tower locations Master Dennet pointed out! Who knows what other dangers are lurking about?”

“And your solution is to scream and inform those other dangers of our presence?” Sarenna only feels the slightest bit of relief when Cassandra stops glaring at her so that she can focus her scowl on Solas instead.

“Do not think to-”

“Cassandra calm down.” Sarenna finally finds her own voice. “If we had not found those Templars and dealt with them, they would have happened upon more innocents and slaughtered them. Let’s retrace our steps and get back to the tower location.” She is amazed as she watches Cassandra’s shoulders drop in resignation.

The rest of the day goes by at a snail's pace, and by the time they make their way back to the camp just outside Dennet’s farm, Sarenna has to stop herself multiple times from turning Cassandra into a block of ice. Despite her frustration with the Seeker, she is quite pleased they were able collect the remaining shards, find the wolve’s lair and free the animals from the demon’s grasp, and close two more rifts. Sarenna opens her hand, stretching her fingers as far as she can, as if that will somehow alleviate the ache she feels in her palm. 

The last rays of sun are still visible as she quietly wanders away from the camp down towards the ravine. Sarenna quickly glances over her shoulder and sees everyone else appears to be preoccupied. Varric is sitting by the fire caring for Bianca, Cassandra is leaning over a table busy conferring with one of the scouts, and the other scouts seem far too busy with the pot bubbling over the fire to notice anything else. The corner of the Herald’s lips twitch only in the slightest bit of a smile, pleased that she won’t have to explain herself to any time soon. 

She sets a brisk pace and within minutes finds herself at the edge of the very stream where they closed a rift earlier. That battle was difficult. For the first time since coming to the Hinterlands, Sarenna was afraid they would be on the losing side of a fight. She settles herself on a rock that has been worn smooth by the stream, sending her thanks to Mythal for keeping her from harm this day.

Sarenna watches the water as it swiftly moves past her toes. The borrowed armor covers her feet completely, unlike the leathers she wore when with her clan. She wishes for the ability to stick her feet into the cold water and feel it rush past her skin, but for now all she can do is watch and listen as the water trickles by. 

“I see you sought out solitude as well Ren.” Solas’ voice startles her and she whips her head to her left to see the other elf sitting casually on the rocks a little further down the bank. She wonders how she missed his presence. Now that she is aware of him, the quiet call of his magic is like a feather, so faint that she questions whether she actually feels it.

“You scared me _ni’ falon_. Although I should have expected to stumble across you, I suppose.” She briefly realizes he was missing from camp when she looked back.

“And yet expect me you did not.” He pauses for a long moment, his eyes following the shadows as they elongate with the setting sun. “You appear to be frustrated.” He states quietly.

“You think?” 

“Cassandra requires that all of us rediscover just how far our patience will last. However I also sense that she is not the only source to test you. Tell me lethallan, what else troubles you.” 

Sarenna stares straight ahead for a moment, debating with herself if she even wants to speak of all the problems bouncing around her head. Finally she decides Solas is the closest person she has to a friend in these troubled times, and more importantly, she trusts him. 

“Besides what we spoke of earlier, I miss my training. I miss my daggers.” She realizes how trivial that sounds when spoken aloud.

“I should like to see you train with daggers one day. It has been a long time since I last encountered an arcane warrior.”

“You have met others?” Visions of Cillian are prominent in her thoughts.

“I have indeed. Both in the Fade and in this realm.”

“You’ve met other _Dirth’ena Enasalin_ in the Fade?” 

“Some were spirits inspired by ancient elvhen, others were merely memories of those warriors from days long past. In either case, they were a marvel to behold.” 

Sarenna can only think of the possibilities of being able to see some of the ancient ones in action. She knows she must still be a novice compared to them, despite the fact that she has trained relentlessly as an arcane warrior for the last 11 years. One can only do so much without a proper teacher.

“Solas, is it at all possible for me to seek these warriors out in the Fade?” She knows it’s a long shot, especially given what she dreams of every night.

“If you have not discovered them in your dreams by now Ren, then I’m afraid you lack the natural talent required to explore the Fade to it’s full potential.” His eyes meet hers, and a smirk graces his features, “That’s not to say you could not find your way with a guide.”

Sarenna has crossed half the distance between them before she even realizes she has left her seat. She stops short, her pulse racing at the opportunity that has presented itself to her.

“Solas if you are leading me false……” she hopes against hope that there is way this can work.

“I would not suggest it if I did not think it possible Ren. Perhaps we can make an attempt once we return to Haven-”

“No!” The word is past lips her lips before Solas has even finished. She trusts him, but not enough to let him see what happened when the Commander was nearby. She is concerned her disastrous dream will repeat when she returns, and there is no need for him to know that whatever her feelings towards the Commander, they are strong enough for their dreams to fuse. At least she assumes that is what happened. How else could she explain it.

“No.” She says again, her voice softer this time, “If we are to attempt this then let it be done out in the world. You said so yourself that you travelled so that you could find new adventures in the Fade. I want to experience as much as I can. I want to learn.”

“Then we will make this happen.” His face lights up, excited by the challenge, or perhaps it’s simply that he will be able to share his journeys into the Fade with another, Sarenna can’t be entirely sure. She smiles back in answer.

“You two might want to make your way back to camp. Seeker looked like she was about to spontaneously combust when she realized you’d wandered off. Actually now that I think on it, that might not be a bad thing.” Varric’s drawl startles her, but not nearly as badly as Solas had earlier. 

She turns towards the dwarf, and notices he still has Bianca slung over her shoulder. The weapon truly never leaves his side. 

“Tell her we’ll be back in a moment.”

She looks back to Solas just as the sun finally sets, and the shadows cover him completely. However his eyes still shine in the way only an elf’s eyes can. 

“I suppose we’ll start tonight then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter definitely took a life of it's own. I'm going to have to rework my outline a little since I really wasn't expecting to write what I did. I like it when that happens, makes me enjoy the process more :) Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> lethallan - my friend (of the the same clan)  
> ni' falon - friend (more of an acquaintance)  
> Dirth’ena Enasalin - Arcane Warrior


	5. The Holy City

* * *

####  Sarenna 

* * *

Orlais is just as Sarenna remembers it. Beautiful. That is until one comes across the locals. Whenever her clan traveled through the Orlesian Empire, an extremely rare occurrence, they avoided the roads as much as possible. Too many, in their ignorance, accused the clan of being escaped slaves, despite the country's ban on the practice. And heaven forbid they actually be recognized as the Dalish they were. Then things got really scary.

Now that she travels with the Inquisition instead of clan Lavellan, she can't say the reception is any better. She wanted to laugh when they first arrived in Val Royeaux and the scout warned them of the happenings in the market. However a quick glance towards Cassandra suggested that would not be the wisest course of action. No, instead she put a frown on her face and assumed the role of Herald. 

The market incident could have gone better if you asked Cassandra. In fact there was no need at all, as the Seeker continued to voice her thoughts, whether anyone wanted to hear them or not. Sarenna did her best to show the remaining chantry sisters that there was no reason to fear her. And instead of calming already exposed nerves, her presence merely gave the Templars the opportunity they sought to further alienate themselves from the world.

While the Lord Seeker was certainly brief with his thoughts of the Inquisition, Sarenna had more than a few choice words for him. She wasn't able to voice them until they were regrouped at their camp outside of Val Royeaux, but when she did, she was surprised to find Cassandra agreeing with her. That had been one of the few moments she didn't mind listening to the Seeker rant and rave. The moment didn't last very long however, and if possible the Nevarran was in an even worse mood now that Sarenna had allowed the rogue elf, Sera, to join them.

“So this breach thingy, you got a plan to close it, yeh?” 

“Not yet Sera. The inquisition is still working on that” 

“But _you’re_ the Inquisition! The glowing Herald of whats-it-shit!” 

Sarenna remains silent as she stares into the fire before her. They are camped for the night, only half a day’s ride from the Ghislain Estate, where the Lady Vivienne de Fer, has invited them. Cassandra was wary until Sarenna reminded her that Lelianna asked her to recruit more agents, and what better an agent than the empress’ own enchanter. The Seeker huffed and grudgingly agreed. And then they met the leader of the mage rebellion.

“So! Are you going to have a plan? I mean I’ve got lots of arrows, just tell me where to point them.”

“Sera!” She snaps at the other elf, “I just told you, the Inquisition does not have a plan yet. They need more information before they can decide what the best approach will be.”

“And that’s why we’re going to this stupid fancy place? To get more _information_.” Sera says the last word with a terrible impression of an orlesian accent.

“Yes.”

“Well you see, that’s where I can come in real handy, yeh? I sneak in with the little people, tell them what we need and bam! _Information_ is ours.” She continues to butcher the word information.

Sarenna laughs because she doesn’t know how else to respond to the over eager bundle of energy beside her. “I’m sure that would work if we knew what we were searching for.”

Sera seems to deflate a little. “Well I still have lots of arrows.” She says sullenly.

Silence fills the campsite and the Herald allows her eyes to unfocus in front of the dancing flames once more. Grand Enchanter Fiona was not what Sarenna expected. The way the Inquisition’s advisors had argued, made it seem as if the leader of the rebel mages were a force larger than life, someone they would have been hard pressed to impress. Instead a quick glance at the tiny elven woman made it appear as if she were begging them to help the mages. It wasn’t until Sarenna stopped and really studied the grand enchanter that she could see the ferocity in the woman’s eyes, and feel the aura of power that was being kept hidden from others. Fiona was most certainly not a woman to trifle with.

It was only later that Cassandra mentioned she used to be a Grey Warden. Despite not being one any longer, Sarenna felt even more bound to help the mages now. She knows she will never come to trust the Templars, and with a former Grey Warden leading the mages, there is no doubt in Sarenna’s mind that they will be able to help close the Breach. Unfortunately, she knows the final decision is not up to her. It will be the Inquisition’s council that will choose who to contact to help mend the sky. She is determined to sway that vote in favour of the mages.

She thinks back to the scene that met them when they returned to Haven from the Hinterlands. The mages and Templars at each other’s throats. It seemed as if a pitched battle was about to begin in front of those Chantry doors, something similar to what they had witnessed in the Fereldan Witchwoods. The four of them were about to rush forward when none other than the Commander had come between the two lead instigators. She was shocked to think she was impressed by the way he handled the situation, doing his best to get both parties to admit they were on the same side.

The dread she was expecting to feel didn’t materialize until she found herself alone with him and Chancellor Roderick. Her body shook as she tried her best to verbally spar with the Chancellor, and wasn’t expecting the Commander to have her back. Worse still was when the former Templar tried to joke with her! She couldn’t believe what was happening. As soon as Roderick walked away, Sarenna made her own excuses to get herself as far away as possible from the Commander. The dream was still quite vivid in her memory.

When summoned to a council meeting later that evening she refused. It wasn’t until Cassandra almost knocked the cabin door off its hinges, and the two women got into a VERY heated discussion of her role in the Inquisition that Sarenna relented and angrily made her way up to the Chantry. Apparently as the Herald she was a founding member of the Inquisition, and as the Herald she was required to attend the council meetings. Once there she gave a brief as possible synopsis of what they’d accomplished in the Hinterlands, never once looking at the object of her night terrors. With a final glare at the Seeker, she stormed out and sequestered herself in the cabin once more. 

It was hours before she was able to relax enough to fall asleep.

That too was a miserable experience, as once more her dreams had fused with that of the Commander’s. And once more he’d plunged his sword through her heart.

There are lips upon hers, and it takes a moment to realize someone is kissing her. A moment longer before she realizes that she’s closed her eyes. Sarenna opens them to find Sera is the culprit, and she pulls back suddenly, unsure of how she’s found herself in her current predicament. With a yell she pushes the elf away from her while failing to get her feet underneath her and stumbling backwards to the ground.

She can hear weapons being drawn even though she can’t see the others react, and before she knows it Sera is surrounded. The rogue looks very much like a cornered dog with no options left, right down to the snarl on her face. Whatever just happened, Sarenna knows it’s not worth it for the others to escalate the situation to this level.

“Stop!” She jumps up from the ground doing her best to put herself between Sera and the others. “It was just a misunderstanding! There’s no need for any of this.” Although she is glad to know that her companions have her back. Solas and Varric immediately relax their weapons, however Cassandra isn’t as easily convinced.

“What exactly happened?” Ever the Seeker, Cassandra inches forward.

“She startled me, that’s all. Cassandra, please.” She lightly touches the Seeker’s wrist, hoping she’ll lower the weapon.

A disgusted noise is the only answer she gets before Cassandra turns around, sheaths her sword and walks back to where she was seated before. Sarenna continues to hold her breath as both Varric and Solas give her glances over their shoulders as they too resume their seats. She nods her head towards them, indicating that everything is indeed, alright. She finally starts to breathe again as she turns towards Sera, who is wearing quite the expression.

“Alright, I get it, you don’t swing that way. Nothing wrong with that. Never hurts to to experiment, ya know?” She is babbling.

“Do you care to explain what that was all about?” Sarenna wishes in this moment that she had perfected her mother’s eyebrow raise. 

“Well you know, heh, eh..” Sera begins to laugh nervously. “Ahh, you, um….” She stops her laugher suddenly. “Really really, I was just sitting there watching you, and you, it looked like you were going through hell just staring at that fire. First you were ok, yeh? And then you started looking worried and then mad, and then you just got this look like something terrible was happening. And I, and I……...Just wanted you to know that everything was alright and the like….” She finishes quietly, clearly embarrassed.

Sarenna chuckles. “No I don’t _swing_ that way. And everything is fine Sera, I was just….thinking.”

“Well I gathered that bit, yeh?”

“You don’t have to worry about me Sera. I survived the conclave, apparently I can survive anything, even my own thoughts.” 

The elf dissolves into a fit of giggles again and starts a story about how she once stole the Grand Duchess’ knickers. Sarenna lets the words wash over her and thinks that maybe the elf can give Varric a run for his money. 

* * *

By the time they reach Ghislain Estate the next day, the sun is low in the sky. The civil war is worse than any of them realized and they were forced to make several detours due to skirmishes they happened upon. Sarenna has never been inside an estate, and she stares in wonder as they approach the gates, much in the same way she did as when they first entered Val Royeaux. The guards are quick to stop them before they get very close. Cassandra negotiates their entrance, producing the invitation sent by Lady Vivienne. 

“Seeker doesn’t look very happy.” Varric motions as Cassandra stalks back towards them.

“When does she look happy?” Sarenna says just loud enough for the dwarf to hear. He snickers as they wait to hear what the Seeker has to say.

“Orlesians!” She snarls as she takes the last few steps towards the group. “They will only admit the Herald as she is the only one listed on the invitation.”

“And what are the rest of you supposed to do, just wait outside the gates?”

“I believe that is exactly what they wish for us to do.” Solas replies.

“Well what do you expect from a bunch of rich tits? Thinking they’re better than everyone else.”

“No. We all go, or we don’t. Cassandra, let’s have another chat with our friends over there.” Sarenna doesn’t even wait for the other woman as she begins to march towards the pompously dressed guardsmen before the gate. Their uniforms are so outrageous she wonders if they can actually fight in them. Not that she’s planning on fighting them, she just needs to channel her inner Cassandra and persuade them. She has no idea what she’s doing.

“You.” She walks up to the closest of the guards, toe to toe with the man. He is a head taller than her, however from the look on his face she can only guess that the look on hers is working. “Do you know who I am?”

“I presume, Mademoiselle, that you are the so called Heral-”

“No! I am a guest of Vivienne de Fer. That is all you need to know. And what do you suppose the good lady will do once I tell her of the atrocious treatment we are receiving at the gate, hmm? I assure you it will not be pleasant.”

“Madame, only you are listed on the invi-”

“I represent the Inquisition. And _they_ represent the Inquisition. We will all be admitted. Now.” She crosses her arms in a show of finality. If this doesn’t work, she’s not really sure what she’ll do. Sarenna tries to keep from holding her breath, waiting for the guardsman’s answer.

For a moment nothing happens. Sarenna stares at the guardsman, and he stares back at her. She can hear Cassandra shifting beside her and Sera in the distance.

“ _Salaud_.” The man says barely audibly. “Fine, fine. You can all enter the estate-”

“Good.”

There is a tense moment as the man steps aside and unlatches the gilded entrance. Sarenna turns and watches as Cassandra motions for the others to join them. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the way is now clear, and she doesn’t hesitate to start forward before the Orlesians change their minds.

It doesn’t take long for the others to catch up with her. “Remind me to bring you along next time there’s a round of Wicked Grace. I’ll want you on my team.” 

“Varric I have no idea what Wicked Grace is.” She keeps her head up straight looking towards the sprawling grounds and manse in front of her. She’s afraid if she looks anywhere else she’ll lose her nerve. She can’t believe that just worked.

“That’s something we’ll need to fix.” 

“Well I’m sure we'll get to that soon enough. For now I’d like to survive another engagement with the Orlesians.” 

“I’m thinking if you just pulled that off, you’ll have no problems inside. From what I hear it's all posturing anyways.” 

“Let's hope so.”

It doesn't take them very long to reach the tall arching entrance of Ghislain Estate. The setting sun makes the gemstones in the mosaics they pass, sparkle as if they were alive. Sarenna is still shaking slightly from her confrontation with the guard as they make their way up the staircase to the inner entrance of the mansion. Once more, Cassandra takes the lead and speaks with the concierge.

“A word of warning _lethallan_ ,” Solas is close by her side so that his words reach her ears only, “I do not believe the nobles present will be as easily intimidated as the man outside. Be careful Ren.” 

“I will Solas, thank you.” 

They are ushered through the large double doors and someone announces they are representatives of the Inquisition, to those who care to listen. Unlike the market in Val Royeaux, where she only saw a few people wearing those ridiculous masks, here _everyone_ is wearing one. Even the servants she notices scuttling along the walls wear them, although theirs are not nearly as extravagant.

Varric immediately beckons over a servant who is holding a tray with something that apparently passes as food. “I haven’t had these in ages!” 

Sarenna smiles to herself before turning to Cassandra. “Hopefully we’ll be able to find this Vivienne quickly and be on our way.”

“Agreed. Perhaps we should split up, this house is almost the size of a palace.” The Seeker seems as if she wants to roll her eyes. 

The Herald is honestly surprised that there is a party going on at all given the fighting that is happening almost on the estate’s door step. She nods her head to the Seeker and head’s through the entrance directly in front of them. As she takes note of the gathered nobles, she begins to feel self conscious as their stares take in her travel attire. The dust and grime that stains the leathers she wears is in stark contrast with the velvets and silks on the men and women around her. 

She carefully makes her way forwards towards the large fountain that sits below the grand staircase. She has no idea what Madame de Fer looks like, but she’s hoping the woman will know who she is. However it is not the Lady Vivienne who approaches her first.

“What a pleasure to meet you my lady. Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome.” A masked man approaches her with a another woman hanging onto his arm. “So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

Before Sarenna can even think of a response, the woman speaks up. “Are you here on business? I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

Trying to set the record straight with the Chantry mothers did them no favours. Even if speaking with Revered Mother Hevara in private did have some impact on the woman, the public was already spreading their own opinion before the Templars marched from that square. 

“Everything you’ve heard, completely true.” For you better or worse, Sarenna is going to use Varric’s advice and spin a story.

“Better and better! The Inquisition should attend more of these parties.”

“The inquisition! What a load of pig shit.” Another noble boasts loudly as he descends the staircase behind the couple she is currently speaking with. “Washed up sisters and crazed seekers, no one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.” The man makes his way to the bottom and stands directly across from Sarenna. Despite the mask, there is no mistaking the smug look on his face as he crosses his arms and dares her to prove him wrong.

She thinks of the breach, even here across the frostbacks and the waking sea, it is still possible to see the smudge of green in the distant sky. Someone managed the impossible, and this man thinks now is a good time to accuse them of a takeover. She almost tries to reach for the staff strapped to her back, but stills her fingers before they so much as twitch. This is what Solas was warning her about. The guard outside may have tried to barre their entrance, but he was a simple road block compared to the game this man is attempting. She knows she needs to say the right thing, and quickly, otherwise this situation might spiral out of control in the blink of an eye.

“The only ones grabbing for power are those responsible for Breach. Doing our best with what little resources we have to attempt to fix this is hardly a political gambit.” 

“Pffttt!” The man waves his arms in the air before him. “We all know what your _Inquisition_ really is. If you were a woman of honour, you would step outside and answer the charges.” 

Sarenna is shocked as he reaches back, she presumes, to take hold of a weapon. Is this a normal occurrence at Orlesian parties? She’s going to have to come better prepared if she’s going to be doing this very often. She can only hope she survives this encounter.

And then without warning, the man is encased in ice.

It’s not like when she detonates one of her ice mines, or freezes a target completely. This is subtle. The man is still able to move his head, still able to speak, but he is without a doubt rooted in place so completely, it is almost as if he were an ice sculpture. Sarenna marvels a moment at the intricacy of the spell that has been cast, but then something else draws her attention.

She doesn’t need to look up to the top of the stairs to know who or what stands there. The energies coming off the Imperial Enchantress are enough to get anyone’s attention. She wouldn’t be surprised if those with non-magical abilities are able to sense her as well. 

Sarenna watches the man in front of her a moment more, as his eyes continue to dart around erratically, before turning to look up towards her host.

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house… to my guests.” 

Madame de Fer certainly knows how to make an entrance, she thinks to herself. She waits patiently as the masked woman leisurely makes her way down the stairs. The Inquisition’s advisors were talking about the wrong mage when they first described Fiona. It is Vivienne de Fer who is larger than life and a force unto herself. Her headdress alone is enough to make anyone think twice before crossing the woman. 

“You know such rudeness is…. Intolerable.” The ebony beauty purrs, as she sashays across the landing and comes to stand comfortably beside Sarenna.

The Herald ignores the pitiful sounds coming from her would be attacker. She needs to gather her wits about her and fast. If she thought this noble was playing a game with her, than she certainly has a lot to learn. Sarenna quickly realizes that he is but a minor player in whatever scheme is afoot. Between the waves of power coming off the mage next to her, and the way she struts around, Sarenna is sure that this show is solely for her benefit. 

“What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?” Vivienne’s highly accented voice breaks through the whirlwind of her thoughts.

“The Marquis doesn’t interest me. Do whatever you like with him.” She is most absolutely not prepared for this turn of events. She hates to admit it, but perhaps listening to Cassandra would have been wise in this instance. Heading back to Haven, and learning what she could before venturing into this vulture’s nest now seems like the wisest course. Unfortunately, she didn’t listen to the Seeker, and now only hopes that she can extricate herself before she gets sucked in too deep.

However before Sarenna can come up with a plan, the Lady is speaking with her once more. “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering, I’ve so wanted to meet you.” A quick nod is the only sign she gets to follow the Enchanter before Madame de Fer turns around and swaggers up the stairs. Sarenna knows one thing for certain, she’s about to get eaten alive.

She follows Vivienne up the stairs and away from the main gathering into the most spectacular room she has ever seen. This is what they must call a library. Shelves filled with books line the walls and make aisles throughout the cavernous room. Surely the good Lady didn’t need to bring her here to catch her off her guard, she is nervous enough as it is. Wishing all at once that she had any of her traveling companions close by, and for the Enchanter to leave her alone so she could explore this treasure of a room, Sarenna prays feverently to Mythal that the next words that leave her mouth don’t get her killed.

“Well, now that all that nonsense is dealt with. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

“A pleasure, Vivienne.” She summons all and any strength she has left in order not to let her voice waver as she speaks one-on-one with the enchantress. “Will our _friend_ be a problem?” 

Vivienne’s laughter rings loud and clear throughout the room, “No my dear. The Marquis’ aunt is the Viscountess of Mont-de-Glace, and is very devout. I’m afraid once she hears of this fiasco, the future will not be very bright for our _friend_.” She uses the same intonation for friend as Sarenna.

“Well I suppose that’s a relief.”

“That it may be, however I didn’t invite you to the chateau, only for you to be accosted by imbecilic guests. What happened at the conclave is concerning to all, and the Breach more so. As the leader of the last loyal mages, I would offer my support to the Inquisition, as I believe it to be our only chance to restore order.”

Sarenna knows very well why she came to the Ghislain Estate, and her person of interest is quite literally offering herself on a silver platter, if the colour of Vivienne’s attire has any bearings on the moment. But the Herald desperately wishes in this moment that Lady Montilyet were handling this situation. She might understand the concept of restoring order and serving justice for those who have fallen, but some the individual acts that make up those worthy causes are completely new to her. 

“Who are you loyal to, exactly?” She feels two feet tall asking the question. How is a Dalish, initiate of Mythal supposed to be expected to negotiate with Orlesian nobles, even if said nobles are giving her the time of day instead of barking their drink orders at her. 

“Why the people of Thedas, of course. Some of us have not forgotten what is written in the Chant. Magic is meant to serve man, and _never_ rule over him.” 

Yes of course. How could she forget the what the Chant says. If she weren’t trying so hard to keep herself together, she is sure that her eyes would have rolled to the back of her head. Andrastians and their damned Chant. As if it were the manual to everything to do with life. Well she supposes it is if one follows the faith. However not all the people of Thedas believe as the Enchantress does. 

“What can you bring to the Inquisition?”

As she asks the question, she feels a subtle shift in the magical energies surrounding the First Enchanter. Some of the wards the woman kept around herself are let loose, and Sarenna is able to sense more of what Vivienne is capable of. There a distinct flow she picks up on, and her eyebrows raise in surprise as the mage in front of her answers.

“My dear I would be your key to the Orlesian empire, I know every member of the Imperial court personally. I have all the resources remaining to the circle at my disposal, and not to mention my own skill with a staff. Don’t look so surprised my dear, I didn’t become the First Enchanter by accident.” 

Sarenna allows Vivienne to believe her list of accomplishments has impressed her. 

She needs to speak with Solas. _Now_.

“Lady Vivienne, welcome aboard. The Inquisition welcomes your aid.” She hopes that she sounds gracious enough for the woman. She needs this meeting to end. 

“Very good darling. I will meet you in Haven at my earliest. In the meantime, I offer you the use of the chateau for the night. I imagine there are few luxuries in your travels. The least I can do is allow you one night of security behind solid walls before traveling back through the unfortunate civil war…”

Vivienne prattles on a few moments longer before taking her leave. Sarenna scratches the back of her neck the moment the other mage has turned her back. She stares a hole between her host’s shoulder blades until she is around the corner and out of sight. Her breath leaves her lungs in a rush, and she immediately starts forward, keeping her awareness up in order to find Solas. 

It takes longer than she likes to locate him in the maze that is the estate. 

“I take it you found your quarry Ren.” He is not asking a question.

“I found much more than I bargained for _ni ‘falon_. I believe Vivienne has dabbled in elvhen magic. I sensed something within her, it was familiar and strange. I do not trust her.” 

Solas frowns a moment before replying, “Were you able to recruit her then?”

“She is playing at something. She says she wishes to restore order, she says she has resources she wishes to put at the Inquisition’s disposal, but she is hiding something, of that I am more than certain.” 

“Are you familiar with the phrase ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?’”

A short bark of laughter is her only reply. A group of nobles nearby, turns and gazes in their direction.

“If she is joining forces with the Inquisition, than we will have time to tease the threads loose of the pattern she is trying to weave.” 

“She says she will meet us in Haven. Let’s hope that what you say is true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so not the most exciting of chapters, but I promise things will start to heat up soon. Also I apologize for the SUPER long time this took to update, I was studying for a certification exam and didn't dare work on this or I wouldn't have studied at all. Updates should be more reasonable from now on. Also please comment! I hate to have to resort to begging but come on! Do you guys like it not like it, hate how I'm doing the characters? This is going to be a weird one, but I still want to know what you guys are looking for. Anyways thanks for reading!
> 
> lethallan - my friend (of the the same clan)  
> ni' falon - friend (more of an acquaintance)  
> salaud - slut (en francais)


	6. The Herald Triumphant

* * *

####  Sarenna 

* * *

Sarenna wakes, and the scream that leaves her throat is mercifully contained by the cabin walls. He did it again. He bloody well did it again! That, that… She doesn’t have a word strong enough to describe her current feelings for the Commander. One thing is for sure, they are not pleasant. 

She purposely slows her breath in an attempt to calm her racing heart and glances out the window. It is still dark. She has no idea how long she’s been asleep for. They arrived back in Haven hours after the sun set. Varric and Solas had thankfully taken Sera to the Singing Maiden to find her a place to sleep for the night while Sarenna and Cassandra headed to the Chantry. Only the candles that flickered around the statues were moving. It didn’t take very long for Cassandra to decide that a council meeting could wait until the morning.

She’s not sure if it’s morning or not, but she’s certainly done with sleeping for the night. With a wave of her hand, the candle beside the bed comes to life. The light floods the dark room, chasing away the remnants of her dream. A sob escapes Sarenna’s lips. If only it were really that easy to forget her nightmares, especially the recent ones. She quickly calms herself while moving to sit over the edge of the bed. She will not cry. She will not!

Sarenna looks up to the staff that rests against the wall across from her. She needs some sort of stability, and fighting with a staff isn’t helping with that these days. She decides that today she’ll talk to Harrit about commissioning a pair of daggers. They won’t be her father’s, but they’ll at least bring some sense of normalcy back into her life. Mythal knows there’s barely any normalcy to be found anywhere since the Conclave. Her gaze moves from the ice tipped staff to the leathers that were thrown on the chair beside the weapon. If they are good enough for her escapades through Ferelden and Orlais, than they’ll be good enough to keep her warm for a walk around Haven.

She quickly throws on the coat, and quietly slips out of the cabin, being careful not to make a sound as she closes the door behind her. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought Haven was deserted. But she does know better, and she finds some peace in the stillness of the village at this hour. Sarenna makes her way towards the gate, and only notices the guard when she’s almost there. 

“You’re up early my lady Herald.” His voice almost sounds too loud, even though he’s speaking just above a whisper.

_He’s a long way from Starkhaven,_ she thinks. There’s no hiding his origins with that accent. 

“You wouldn’t sleep much either if you knew you were the key to closing that.” She nods in the direction of the Breach.

“Aye. I won’t argue with you there.” The scout moves to open the gate.”Be careful out there, We’ve posted guards, but who knows what’s wondering out here this time of night.” He warns her as he steps aside so that she can pass under the the arches, out from the protected walls of Haven.

“With this many soldiers camped out here? We’re still worried about wild animals?” If she were travelling with the small numbers of her clan, she’d take that seriously. 

“Can never be too careful your Worship.” His eyes glint in the soft firelight of the torches before he pulls the gate shut. 

_Your Worship_. That’s a new one.

Sarenna frowns to herself a moment before turning and looking out at the frozen lake that sits outside the village walls. The number of tents dotting the shoreline has grown since they originally left for Val Royeaux all those weeks ago. She wonders where the Inquisition managed to find the recruits. Surely they are recruits, and not more refugees. They can’t be refugees. She spots the guards the scout mentioned, but other than those few, the Inquisition’s sprawling war camp is just as still and silent as Haven.

Even though they have yet to make contact with either the mages or Templars, there are still both within the ranks of the Inquisition. The call of the lyrium is noticeable outside of Haven’s gates. Sarenna doesn’t shiver anymore as the song flows past her. She doesn’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing that she’s getting used to the constant sound of having templars near by. 

She makes her way carefully towards an outcropping of rock that overlooks the lake. The snow crunches lightly beneath her feet and she’s amazed that there’s any of the freshly fallen variety left with all the footprints she sees on the ground around her. The sky is cloudless this night and the moon bright. She is glad of its glow, and doesn’t need to summon any magic to see the way before her. It doesn’t take her long to find a comfortable place to sit, and less time still to fold her legs beneath her into a prayer pose. 

Even though she is an initiate of Mythal, she cannot remember the last time she took the time to pray to the elvhen gods. She no longer flinches at the title of Herald. They will call her what they must in order to believe this can all be fixed. Even Sera, who would be the last person in Thedas to admit she believes in any sort of deity, calls her by the title like it’s the last thing standing between herself and the unimaginable. In retrospect, she supposes it is. Although Sera probably doesn’t even understand that much.

She stretches her arms over her head while breathing in deeply, then slowly brings her hands down, cupping them into the shape of a bowl. Even with the name Herald of Andraste, but she will always be the chosen of Mythal, the vessel of Justice. The spirit was not with her long, only long enough for the clan to understand that those in the Fade had a special interest in her. She was but a child when Justice chose her to join with. She barely remembers what it felt like to host the being who changed her from the carefree girl to the devout young woman. To be sure, she is still carefree, but now she more than understands that the gods are not merely stories from times past. They still answer the calls of their subjects. They exist, and they still chose to shape the world in what small ways they can.

At least, that’s what Justice believed. Justice who embodied one of the aspects of Mythal.

Sarenna allows her body to settle and clears her mind of all thoughts. All memories. All dreams and nightmares. The stars continue their journey across the night sky, and Sarenna prays. The words come to mind quickly, as if she practices them everyday. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the prayers to the goddess she swore her life in service to. She can feel the tension and fatigue leave her back and shoulders. Her limbs become light and energized and for the first time in weeks, she begins to feel like she’s had multiple nights of full rest. 

The first rays of the sun kiss her face, and the warmth startles her from her worship. All at once she feels the aches and pains from kneeling in the snow for who knows how long. Dawn was still a long ways away when she came out here. She cracks an eye lid and immediately winces as the light does it’s best to blind her. Gingerly, she relaxes from her pose and leans back, taking her weight off her knees. While she doesn’t feel as invigorated as she first did, she certainly feels better than when she awoke from the nightmare.

Thoughts of the Commander set her heart racing, and not in a good way. She’s made sure to have as little contact with him as possible in the few times she’s been in Haven since she woke up from stabilizing the Breach, and she’s not about to change that. Why the damn bastard is in her dreams in the first place is still a mystery. Why he keeps mistaking her for a desire demon is another. 

His words to her in the Fade make no sense. He claims his desires are his own. He claims she is taunting him. What exactly has happened in the Commander’s life that he’s so afraid of her while dreaming? She shivers remembering the look in his eyes the first time he ran her through. It was the look of a man who had found his heart’s desire, and then been forced to destroy it. All she can do is continue to keep her distance from him. She thinks further about asking Solas for help. He is after all helping her search the Fade for ancient Arcane Warriors. 

“Herald!”

Sarenna turns at the sound. Cassandra is marching towards her, fully dressed and armed, ready for the new day.

“I did not expect to find you here this early in the day.”

“I did not expect anyone to be looking for me this early in the day.”

“We have much work ahead of us Herald.” Despite the weeks she’s spent in the Seeker’s company, the woman refuses to call her by name. “I have informed the advisors we must meet at once. There are many things to discuss.”

Sarenna sighs loudly. So much for avoiding the Commander. 

“I will meet you in the Chantry shortly Cassandra. Allow me a moment to gather myself.”

The Seeker nods her head in understanding, then spins on her heel and marches back towards the village. Sarenna watches the woman’s retreating back a moment before picking herself off the cold ground. She shivers, from the cold this time, and not the song. Perhaps the leather armor is not enough to keep the chill out while she’s not having to fight for her life. 

It doesn’t take her long to pop into the her cabin and search for some warmer garments. With the addition of warmer leggings, a scarf and some gloves, Sarenna reluctantly makes her way to the Chantry to meet with the advisors. Her mood darkens the closer she gets to the stone building with the fluttering heraldry. She notices they have added more Inquisition banners to go alongside the Andrastian ones. 

She sighs once more before crossing the rest of the distance to the chantry doors. Sarenna stands a moment inside, letting her eyes adjust to the low light levels. The Chantry is bustling with people already, even though the sun has only just risen. She notices a Chantry Mother walk out from a pair of columns, and it takes her moment to realize that it is Mother Giselle. It would appear that the woman has made it safely from the Crossroads.

“Ah my child, you have returned. I am glad you took my advice to seek out the clergy in Val Royeaux.” Her heavy Orlesian accent is impossible to mistake.

“I gave it a shot. But I don’t think anyone was expecting what was waiting for us.”

“No, I suppose not-” Before the woman can say anything else, Josephine exits a doorway and spots her.

“Oh! Lady Lavellan! Good, you’re here. We can get started then.” The Antivan rushes over and gently, but firmly, takes hold of her elbow and steers her towards the meeting room while the most beautiful excuse Sarenna has ever heard spills from her lips. Mother Giselle gives a most gracious bow and a knowing smile before turning towards a nearby Sister. 

As they draw nearer to the door, Sarenna can hear the Commander’s song. She still isn’t sure why the song that flows from him is different than the other Templar’s, but at the moment she really doesn’t care. Before she knows it, Josephine as propelled her into the room and shut the door behind them. Leliana and Cassandra stand to one side of the massive table, while the Commander stands directly behind it, hands resting on the edges while he glares down at the maps. She swallows the bile that threatens to rise and takes a step forward while the Ambassador makes her way to her position of choice.

“We heard what happened in Val Royeaux.” Leliana starts as she approaches the table. “My agents sent word.”

“Wonderful, then we don’t have to get into the gory details.” 

“There are still many things to discuss Herald.” Cassandra grinds out, obviously expecting her to make her exit as she had during the last meeting.

Sarenna does her best not to roll her eyes. She understands why she’s here with the advisors, and it’s obvious they are not finished after three sentences. Although she hopes Cassandra understands she will not be sticking around to socialize after matters have been dealt with. She is certainly glad of the table between herself and the man across from her. It hides the fact that she can’t make one of her legs stop shaking.

“It is interesting that the Grand Enchanter appeared in person to deliver her invitation.” Josephine says quickly, trying to keep the meeting on topic.

“Quite.” The Commander drawls, he looks up from the table finally, “However I find it a shame the Templars have decided to abandon the people of Thedas in their hour of need.”

“At least we know the Chantry doesn’t have the clout to send angry mobs our way, not without _their_ army.” She doesn’t want to respond to him, but she also wants to make clear her thoughts on Templars.

“Regardless of who has an army, at least we know how to approach our potential allies now.” Leliana seems excited. 

“Do we really want to approach either of them right now? Lord Seeker Lucius has taken the Templars somewhere unknown, and the mages are clearly desperate. Neither group appears enticing.” Cassandra, as usual, is not pleased. 

“I’m not sure we even have the influence to approach either party at the moment.” He glances quickly towards Sarenna. His eyes betray nothing. How could they appear so innocent after what he has done? She does notice the dark circles under his eyes. Perhaps not everything is _dreamy_ in the Commander’s world then.

“The mages are at least willing to speak with us. We can always find out what they want.” Even if the other’s are still debating who to contact, she already knows who should be approached. Perhaps she’ll even go ahead and do it, with or without this council’s knowledge. 

“If any of the mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave…” 

“The same could be said about the Templars.” Josephine cuts Cassandra off before she can finish her sentence.

“Either way, we know what the mages want.” The Commander interjects again, “They need allies, there’s no way for them to survive without them. However there must be some Templars who haven't forsaken the Chantry. We could search for them as well.” 

“Do we even have the resources to do that?” She’s becoming annoyed, very quickly.

“As of yet no, but I must admit Herald, you have been very resourceful yourself in gaining us contacts and agents.” Leliana looks at her with an expression that can almost be called respect. “If you keep up your efforts, I’m sure the Inquisition will be in a much better bargaining position in no time. Not to mention those you have helped by closing rifts have been flocking to us to help in any way they can, either by joining our army, or supplying us with much needed goods.”

“I didn’t realize I was such an efficient recruiter.” She is rather shocked by the compliment.

“We’ve already received word of the impending arrival of the Orlesian Court Enchantress. Her requested list of necessities is….quite long.” Josephine looks forlornly at the clipboard in her hands. “And if I’m not mistaken you’ve already brought back the rogue, Sera?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find a use for someone of her skill in your out party.” The Ambassador looks simultaneously at both Cassandra and Sarenna.

“While we’re on the topic, there was someone I was hoping you would contact on our behalf. News of a warden named Blackwall has reached my ears. He’s reportedly located not far from one of our inquisition camps. Do you think you would be able to seek him out?” The Nightingale looks hopeful.

A warden? Here? YES! She wants to yell and jump, however that would not be very dignified of the First of clan Lavellan, nor the Herald of Andraste. Instead she tries once more to calm her still shaking leg.

“It would be my pleasure.” She hopes she doesn’t sound too pleased. She does not yet trust them enough to open her emotions to the people standing in this room. Especially not him. She can feel his eyes on her even when she’s not looking, it’s…..unnerving.

The meeting continues on while the advisors discuss mundane matters, food supplies, how to get raw materials for armour to equip the influx of recruits. How to best split their resources for the multiple calls for help with rifts they are receiving. Sarenna listens, but keeps silent for the most part. Every once in awhile the mark flares from beneath her gloves, and it glows the faintest of greens. She’s sure she’s the only one who notices.

It feels like it’s been hours by the time Cassandra decides they are done. Sarenna immediately spins on her heel and exits the meeting room as quickly as she can. Although it would seem not quickly enough as a firm but small hand grasps her by the elbow when she’s only a few steps from the room. She turns to find Leliana is the one who would like further words with her.

“Sarenna if I may take a few more moments of your time. There is another matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” She has no idea what the spymaster has in store.

“I have already spoken with the others, but they have brushed off my suspicions as nonsense.” 

The Herald gives Leliana her full attention. She’s genuinely intrigued.

“A few months before the conclave, the Ferelden Grey Wardens disappeared. I sent word to my contacts in Orlais, but those Grey Wardens have left their posts as well. I can’t help but think of the timing as…… Curious.”

“And this Grey Warden in the Hinterlands, he’s the only one you’ve been able to find?” She feels a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. As excited as she is to search for this Blackwall, she can’t help but feel a bit of dread at what Leliana has just told her.

“Yes.” She sighs audibly. “I do not want to believe that they could be involved, but something is telling me to investigate this. If you could try to find out anything from Blackwall, I would be very appreciative.” 

Sarenna nods. She is not pleased with this new information, but at least she can do her best to find out if the Grey Wardens leaving the two countries is indeed coincidence. She is about to continue her exit of the Chantry when she suddenly remembers something.

“Can I ask a favour in turn from you?” 

“If it is something within my power to grant, I don’t see why not.”

“My Clan. I don’t know if they’ll have any word of what’s happened by now. Would you be able to find them? Get word to them that I am alive? I can’t imagine what they’ll do if they think they had sent me to my death-”

“Consider it done.” Leliana grasps her hand in reassurance. “I will send agents out this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, possibly the first genuine smile she’s given this woman since she woke up from the Conclave. With another nod, she turns once more, and finally makes her way outside.

The sun blinds her a moment as she steps past the doors, but her eyes adjust quickly. A man is standing not far from her looking slightly lost. She approaches cautiously and clears her throat.

“Do you need any assistance?” 

“Oh Hello! I’m just trying to deliver a message, but no one wants to give me the time of day around here!” He turns around to face her, and for a moment she thinks she’s made a mistake. She frowns slightly trying to decide whether this person is a man or not. Deciding it’s not that important, she motions for him to follow her.

“You can give me the message. Care for a tour of Haven while we talk?” She can use the information as leverage with Cassandra if need be.

“A tour would be spectacular. Although I don’t think the message will take that long.” He chuckles to himself. “The name’s Cremisius Aclassi with the Bull’s Chargers Mercenary Company.”

“I’ve never heard of the Bull’s Chargers before.” Truth be told she hasn’t heard of any mercenary company.

“From your accent, I’m going to guess you don’t spend much time in Nevarra or Orlais. Most of our contracts put us there. We’re currently finishing up a job here in Ferelden out on the Storm Coast.” They descend the steps of the first terrace and approach the tavern. “Tevinter Mercenaries have been setting up camps. My commander, Iron Bull, offers the information _free of charge._ ”

“Free of charge?” They pass the tavern and round the corner on the path that leads towards Haven’s gates. 

“Consider it a gift. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

“You assume I have this sort of authority within the Inquisition.” She laughs as they continue down the path.

“ _You did_ tell me to give you the message. Should I go back that Chantry and wait around for someone else?”

“Fair point. Your commander, Iron Bull, that’s certainly an interesting name.”

Cremisius stops and leans against the wall that surrounds the village. “Well he’s one of those Qunari folk. The name’ll make more sense if you meet him. But even with him being a ox-man and all he’s one of the best leaders I’ve had the honour of serving. He commands from the front and doesn’t ask you to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He’s put together a fine company of fighters, and we’ve got references to back that up. We’re loyal, we get the job done, and we _don’t_ kidnap children.”

“Good to know.” 

“Anyways,” He pushes off the wall and resumes his position beside her. “Bull sent me here because he actually wants to work with the Inquisition. Don’t get me wrong, it’ll still cost you, but the chief’s never been one to go out of his way for an assignment. I think _that_ thing has him shook up pretty bad, although he’d never admit it.” 

They exit Haven’s gates and Sarenna’s new mercenary friend stares up at the Breach. 

“Who would have ever thought I’d live to see a hole in the sky.”

“I don’t think anyone was prepared that one.” She says softly while playing with the glove on her left hand, making sure if doesn’t slip off accidentally, revealing the mark. The Templars’ song shrieks against her mind, but once more, she doesn’t allow it to bother her.

“Looks like you lot have a good number of soldiers yourself.” 

“Yes…… They appear to be growing in number everyday, surprisingly.”

“Is that your Commander over there?” Cremisius points towards the command tents. Sarenna tenses up momentarily before realizing who he is pointing to.

“No. I think that’s just one of the drill sergeants.” She has no clue who the man is really, but she does know it’s most certainly not _the Commander_. The thought crosses her mind that she should get to know a few more souls around here. 

“Ah, well at least your sergeants seem to know what they're doing, even if you soldiers don’t look like it.”

Sarenna can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, are you insulting our green recruit army?”

“Only a little, they are afterall green recruits.”

“I think I like you Cremisius Aclassi.”

“Just call me Krem. You still haven’t told me your name.”

She turns towards him, “Sarenna-”

And coming towards her is none other than the Inquisition’s Commander. His eyes are half shut while he pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, which probably explains why he’s only steps away from her. Sarenna freezes instantly at the proximity. Granted he was physically closer to her while they stood around the table in the chantry, but there is no table between them now. There’s absolutely nothing from stopping the man from grasping his sword and plunging it through her as he’s done numerous times in her dreams. 

Their dreams……

He looks up suddenly, his hand falling away from his face and stares at her. For some reason she notices the stubble along his jaw. It’s a far cry from the goatee he wears every time he kills her. In fact his hair is also different now that she thinks about it. The fact that Varric calls him Curly makes much more sense. Physical appearance aside, she is still faced with the very immediate problem of him standing directly in front of her. The urge to turn and run for her life is so strong, it takes every ounce of willpower to stay rooted in place.

She could run, she could. She should.

A cough startles her and she turns her head. 

Krem. Krem is still here. 

Only her eyes look back towards the Commander. He’s still there as well, and hasn’t yet said a word. She quickly looks back towards the mercenary who is looking between the two of them with his eyebrows furrowed. 

She’s going to run.

But she’s going to be _dignified_ as she does it damn it. 

Before the situation can spiral into another layer of awkwardness, she takes Krem by the arm and leads him towards the smithy, and away from the Commander. Sarenna makes sure to keep her pace steady, one foot in front of the other. By the time they make it to the small structure that serves as the Inquisition’s armoury, there’s no hiding the fact that she’s shaking like a leaf. She stops and lets go of Krem, leaning backwards against the low railing while her hands grasp the wood like a vice.

“And that would be…….”

“The Commander.” It’s difficult to keep her breathing steady. She has no idea how she managed it during the council meeting. This far away she can no longer hear his song, she is thankful. “We’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

“Well that’s a little obvious.”

He watches her but otherwise keeps silent as she steadies herself. Someone she doesn’t recognize approaches them from the path and Krem crosses his arms across his chest in the most menacing of fashions while glaring at them. The scout quickly moves to the far side and continues on their way. Laughter she can’t seem to contain spills forth and before she knows it she’s doubled over, once more trying to catch her breath.

She looks up from the ground where she’s slumped to see the mercenary kneeling in front of her, a worried look on his face. She can hear the workers behind them have stopped, and she can only guess they’re staring where she’s seated herself. 

“I’m alright.” She says louder than necessary. “Really really, I’ll be fine.”

Krem extends a hand as he rises, and Sarenna takes it without a second thought. 

“I most decidedly like you Cremisius Aclassi. Mercenary and protector of maidens.”

She’s not sure, but she swears he blushes. “Oh you know, all in a day’s work.”

“I’ll be sure the Inquisition receives your message Krem.”

“Thank you.”

“Herald! There you are!”

Sarenna’s head whips to the right just in time to see Cassandra marching up to her for the second time that day.

“Herald?” Krem suddenly looks as if he’s not sure whether to bow before her or stand at attention. “ _You’re_ the Herald of Andraste?”

“It would appear I am.” She replies, only the slightest bit defeated.

The Seeker closes the distance between them, this time gracing Cremisius with her signature scowl. “Herald, there is something I would discuss with you. _In private._ ”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Herald.” Krem salutes her with a twinkle in his eye before leaving the two women. It isn’t until he’s well out of earshot that Cassandra finally takes her eyes off him.

“Who was that?”

“A messenger.”

“Regarding?”

“A proposition.”

“Herald, we do not have time to play games!”

She does her best not to huff at the warrior. “Perhaps it’s best if we make our way to Josephine’s office then? We have an offer to discuss.”

“Very well.”

Her second meeting of the day runs a few more hours, but at least it keeps her from running into the Inquisition’s military leader. She barely makes it back out to the smithy in time to request her daggers from Harrit. While the blacksmith doesn’t ask her outright, it’s plain on his face that he’s extremely curious as to why a mage is wanting these particular weapons. She supposes he’ll find out at some point once she starts to use them, but until then, she prefers to keep the information to herself. And Solas.

She realizes she hasn’t seen the elf all day, and leaves the blacksmith once more to go in search of him. Sarenna believes it’s important they discuss what she discovered in Orlais, without anyone else around to eavesdrop. If the Imperial Enchantress has indeed stumbled upon ancient knowledge, they need to find out how. 

Instead she comes across Varric as she enters Haven’s gates.

“Freckles! Just the Herald of Andraste I was looking for!”

“Oh? Is there another Herald I wasn’t aware of?”

“False modesty doesn’t suit you Freckles.”

“Noted.” She can’t help but smile at the dwarf who is quickly becoming a friend, as strange as that is to admit. “No Bianca tonight?”

“No, I’ve tucked her into bed early. Tonight we relax with a drink. Many drinks!”

“I was actually just-”

“Really? You’re going to turn me down? And I already told Buttercup I’d be right back with you.”

She does suppose Solas will still be around in the morning. And the thought of good company and a round or two does sound rather appealing.

“I can see it in your face! Good! We’ve already got a table and a seat with your name on it!” She allows the overly jovial story teller to lead her towards the tavern, letting everything else go. 

The early evening light wanes quickly through the taverns windows. Sarenna has had more drinks than she thinks she should have, while Varric spins tale after tale. At one point he stands directly on the bar counter with all the patrons hanging on his every word while Flissa swats at him with a towel . Nearly every soul in the pub is too intoxicated to notice that their _Herald_ , is drinking with the lowly likes of them, and she enjoys that. She cherishes the occasion of not hiding who she is, of not being the center of attention. For at the moment, that is all Varric.

The night continues on, and the tavern slowly begins to lose patrons. Sarenna however doesn’t notice the noise diminish as people leave. The ringing in her ears informs her she has most certainly had too much, and she thinks it’s probably a good idea to leave while she still can. Sera fell asleep under the table ages ago, but the rogue across from her continues to regale her with stories. She wonders if he ever runs out of things to say. 

“Var-ric,” she's concentrating to make sure the words sound at least a little bit the way they're supposed to. “I think... I need to go.”

“No worries Freckles. Go find your bed. After tonight, you deserve a good rest.” His voice is steady. She's seen him suck down just as many, if not more drinks than her. How does he act like he doesn't feel a thing? Maybe it's just because he's a dwarf.

She doesn't try to say goodnight but waves instead as she gets to her feet. The vertigo she experiences threatens to knock her back down into the chair. She stands still a moment with her eyes closed, waiting for the sensation to pass. She's definitely had one too many drinks.

Concentrating on where her feet land, she slowly but steadily makes her way out of the tavern. She breaths in deep as the cool Frostback air hits her face once the door closes behind her. The hushed sounds of Haven at night remind a little of when she first woke up that morning, but there are still some people moving about, disturbing the silence enough that she doesn't feel alone. 

Sarenna starts to walk in the general direction of her cabin. She has to stop more than a few times to regain her balance. Next time she really needs to remember not to match Sera drink for drink. Putting the camp incident aside, she likes Sera. Despite her rough exterior, the elf earnestly wants to help those she can. She really doesn't care about class, race, or any sort of status. Given the company Sarenna is forced to keep lately, she finds the rogue refreshing. She has no doubts the friend of Red Jenny will call her out if she starts acting strangely. It troubles her to think that’s a legitimate concern these days.

She sees a stone at the last second but doesn't have the reflexes to avoid it, and stumbles forward, doing her best not to land on the ground. A hand shoots out of somewhere, grasping hers. It gives her just enough leverage that she’s able to stay on her feet, but only just. Her vision is clouded and she blinks, trying to focus on the fingers that are intertwined with hers. They are the strong hands of a warrior, rough and scarred, yet they hold onto her with gentleness. She looks up to thank her timely rescuer.

And the blood drains from her face in an instant leaving her even dizzier than before.

It’s him. Of course it’s him.

She tries to untangle her hands from his and step away all at once, but her motor skills are just as graceful as when she tried to avoid the stone. This time he takes hold of both her shoulders to keep her from falling backwards.

“Steady there Herald.”

That voice. It’s like velvet and poison all at once. 

She hiccups. Because of course she does.

“And you’re drunk.” The disappointment in his voice is clear, but she doesn’t care. 

Not only is he right in front of her, but he’s touching her. Sarenna needs to get away from him, but it’s clear she can’t do so without falling over. She is never drinking with Varric again.

“Alright, let’s get you back.” He says while turning her to face a different direction. It isn’t until he links his arm with hers that she notices he isn’t wearing his normal outfit. The Commander’s uniform is gone, replaced with soft leather trousers and a loose linen shirt. She doesn’t at all like being able to feel the heat coming off his body. She realizes right then that she’s left her warmer clothing in the tavern and despite not liking the heat, it’s keeping the cold at bay. She’s an idiot. She’s twice an idiot. He starts leading her forward before she can resist.

“Care to explain why you ran from me earlier?” He asks suddenly.

“No.”

She doesn’t care to explain, she doesn't care for his presence and she certainly doesn’t care to have him escorting her. However she can’t seem to pull herself away from him either as he continues to guide her safely towards her cabin. 

Safely!

There’s the ironic word of the year. 

Her ears are still ringing and she barely realizes that he’s still talking to her. She doesn’t bother to listen and ignores him. The only circumstance she’ll even pretend what he has to say is important is during the council meetings, and they are certainly not in a meeting. There is _no_ reason for her to pay attention to him currently.

She looks up from the ground as they slow and sees that they have arrived at her cabin. She lurches forward towards the door, ripping herself out of his hold. She doesn’t care that she slams into the wood and barely manages to find the door knob, let alone turn it.

“Good night lady Herald.” She hears him say as she finally gets the door open. 

She counts herself fortunate that she doesn’t trip over the door frame as she enters the dark room. Sarenna turns and gets one last hazy look at the Commander before slamming the door as hard as she can. She doesn’t realize until she’s been standing in the dark by herself for what is probably minutes that her breath is close to heaving. 

That man is trouble. Nothing but trouble.


	7. Demon Hunter

* * *

####  Cullen 

* * *

The door shuts in Cullen’s face with more force than necessary. He stands a moment staring at the grain of the wood, inches from his nose.

“Maker’s Breath. That’s not how most people respond to good night.” He mumbles to himself.

A soft gust of wind blows cold air on him as he turns away from the cabin, making him shiver. He wasn’t expecting to be outside this long without proper clothing. Cullen was finishing up reports when he realized he’d left an important missive in the council room, and thought to quickly retrieve it. That’s when he came across Sarenna’s stumbling form. Even though she’s made it clear she’d rather dance with a demon than tolerate his presence, he still couldn’t let her fall. 

He keeps trying to think of her as the Herald and not as Sarenna. If she’s the Herald, then she has a holy position within the Chantry, whether they like it or not. If she _is_ part of the Andrastian faith, it is difficult to think of her as a woman. A woman he is far too interested in. A woman he should _not_ be interested in.

A shadow moves ahead of him and he looks up to see Leliana leaning against the corner of the nearest building.

“I know who she looks like Cullen. You need to be careful, this is not Valwyn.”

Leliana knows. Of course Leliana knows. She was there when he was rescued from the tower. She was there when his secret was revealed. The Inquisition’s spymaster knows just how he felt about the late Hero of Ferelden.

And she’s just made it obvious she suspects his current feelings for the Herald of Andraste.

“Thank you for the information. I would have never known.”

The Orlesian raises a perfectly arched brow. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you had acquired an attitude.”

“I’m not a lost soul any longer Leliana, there’s no need to treat me like a child!” His anger is quick to rise.

“Peace Cullen.” She holds her hands up in front of herself. “Valwyn became a dear friend to me before the end. I know how hard it is to have this reminder of her walking around.”

He can see the emotion in the rogue’s eyes, which comes as a surprise considering how much she guards herself.

“Your concern is appreciated, _if_ misplaced.” The headache that has been plaguing him all day is wearing his patience thin. Cullen scowls while continuing on towards the Chantry to pick up the missives. He says nothing as Leliana moves to walk in step with him.

“You will tell me if you need anything, yes?” The phrase coming from her is more of a command than a question.

“I will be sure to inform you if there’s anything.” He does his best not to growl out his response. 

The Nightingale has done enough poking into his past. In fact she’s nosed into everyone’s past, he didn’t miss the number of folders that have increased in her command tent. Her little birds have been busy these last few months. Leliana walks with him a few moments more before bidding him goodnight and parting ways. He’s relieved.

Cullen is quick to finish his short trek to the Chantry, and is in and out with the papers in little time. He barely glances at them at all as he hurries back to his own cabin, which is surprisingly not far from the Herald’s. He wonders if the alcohol has gotten the best of her yet, or if she’s still awake. It doesn’t matter, even if she did tolerate his presence, she’s still the Herald. He shivers again, but not from the cold this time.

The frigid air helped ease his headache slightly, but it continues to bother him as he enters the cabin. The candle on the desk has burned low, and he debates whether to get another ready or to simply work until this one has gone out. The pounding in his temples sways him towards the second option. The Commander of the Inquisition sits down heavily in the chair behind the small table he’s converted to a desk. Besides the lonely candle, dozens of reports and maps are strewn over the surface. Requests and pleas for help from all over Ferelden, and surprisingly parts of Orlais, are hidden in the mess only he understands at the moment. He drops the missive in the middle of everything and immediately picks back up from where he left off. 

The candle burns lower and lower while he works and it isn’t very long before he notices it’s about to snuff itself out. He watches the flame start to gutter, and decides that he’s punished himself enough for the day. As he gets up he accidentally shifts some of the papers on the desk, and a couple fall to the floor. Cullen grumbles to himself while he leans over to pick them up. As he places the last of them into a pile, he glances over the words and once more begins to puzzle over the message. 

After the Breach was sealed, Cassandra being Cassandra, was willing to trust the Herald, but only to a point. She asked those already working with the fledgling Inquisition to keep an eye on their person of interest, to let them know if she did anything out of the ordinary. After weeks of working with the elf, the Seeker was satisfied that she was helping them in earnest. However it would appear the message never got out to stop keeping an eye on their dear Herald. Thus the small piece of paper that Cullen currently holds in his hands.

The Herald commissioned a pair of daggers. 

Cullen knows the words should surprise him, but they don’t. It shouldn’t matter that she had a weapon commissioned, except that she’s a mage, and she ordered knives. He can’t for the life of him explain why he’s not shocked. 

An image comes to mind that confuses him. It’s the Herald, expect she’s not as he knows her now. She’s much younger, she’s dressed distinctly dalish, and she’s fighting. 

With daggers. 

He rubs a hand over his face. The lyrium withdrawal must be getting worse, the headaches certainly have been. Why else would he be able to conjure up that particular image. He swears he’s never seen it before, he’s certain he would have remembered if he’d met the Herald before she became the Herald. Her appearance is too meaningful for him. He _would_ have remembered.

He has no explanation. 

Shaking his head, he places the papers on the desk and gets up just as the candle finally gutters out. He’s used to the layout of the room by now and has no issues navigating the cabin in the dark. Cullen kicks off his boots and lets out a sigh as his body sinks into the mattress. He hopes he doesn’t dream this night, even though he knows he will, he can still hope. He closes his eyes and does his best to clear his mind. That’s what he was trained to do as a Templar. It was supposed to help him avoid nightmares. He doesn’t think the technique has ever worked, even though he still tries from time to time.

Sleep comes relatively quickly. He only knows because the sound of approaching footsteps would not be possible in his cabin. He opens his eyes and is not surprised that he’s in Kinloch Hold. He looks down at himself to see he’s once more in his Templar armour. As his gaze leaves his uniform and he takes in the horror around him. Blood and body parts are strewn everywhere. Organic red pods of some sort, fill the free spaces along the walls. He can only assume those are the by-products of demons, or the abominations, or the blood mages. The scene is grotesque and far more detailed than it should be for a dream. Except this isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare.

The footsteps are loud and echo off everything as they continue to draw near. Cullen pulls his sword free. Every night these demons torment him, and every night he continues to play their victim. Perhaps tonight he will finally be able to break free of their terror and games. He looks about him once more and has to close his eyes as he recognizes two of the bodies nearby, or at least what’s left of them. Emmaline is mostly intact, although still very much deceased, while Dickon’s head lays on the ground not far from her, his eyes still open wide in terror. Those were his brother and sister Templars. They were his second family, his home away from home. And he was able to do _nothing_ as he watched the demons slaughter them gleefully. 

His heart pounds in his chest as he does his best to forget their killings. A barrier springs up around him, preventing him from escaping, but also temporarily stopping anything from getting to him. He can’t help it when his limbs start to shake and Cullen is momentarily amazed that he’s survived his nightmares for as long as he has. The footsteps sound closer still. Despite the fear and adrenaline that is quickly coursing through his entire being, he doesn’t kneel down and recite the chant. He suspects that’s what he normally does in this nightmare. No more, he will fight these beasts.

The door ahead of him creaks on its hinges as it opens and a figure emerges. Uldred. He wondered who the footsteps belonged to. The bald man smiles at him, but it is not a reassuring gesture. 

“I see you are expecting us tonight.” The voice is not the mage’s. It is warped and distorted, deeper than it should be. A demon. One of _his_ demons.

“Do your worst!” Cullen doesn’t know how he manages to sound so confident. He certainly isn’t feeling it. His Templar abilities work against mages, not demons. Even if he did have access to what little was left of that power, it would still be useless to him. One of the senior enchanters had tried explaining it to him once when he was first stationed at Kinloch. Demons and spirits were essences of the fade itself, and used no mana. There was essentially nothing for a Templar to disrupt. Mages manipulated the fade, not Templars. 

“Oh, _we will_.” It is a promise. There is no doubt in that. 

Uldred steps forward and half a dozen lesser demons surge through the doorway behind him. In the strange way of dreams, they all seem to be able to fit through at the same time. Cullen can feel his sword arm shaking so badly that he has to hold the weapon in a death grip simply so that he doesn’t drop it. The demons don’t stop but immediately rush forward towards him. He can’t help but shuffle backwards away from them, and he quickly finds out how very small the barrier is around him. The demons are upon the prison in an instant, banging against the magic, causing the floor beneath him to shake.

Cullen starts to recite the chant, as little good as it will do him it’s better than nothing. The words spill forth in between his erratic breaths, and they’re barely comprehensible. He keeps his head up and watches Uldred as he makes his way slowly forward. The demon/mage grins as he approaches, the light behind his eyes turning the same green as the Breach. 

“How shall we spend the time tonight little Templar? Should I play with you like this? Or would you prefer to see someone else?” The demon transitions in an instant from Uldred to Valwyn, and Cullen’s heart sinks. Valwyn with her red hair and violet eyes. Valwyn who’s virtual twin haunts him while he’s awake and runs from him at every opportunity. 

His breath catches in his throat and the chant stops. He can’t, he simply can’t handle this. Not her. Never her. Even after all this time he still can’t bare what was done to him, how they tortured him with her. The banging against the barrier intensifies and before long it comes crashing down, the magic that was sustaining it expired. Cullen tries not to weep as the demons crowd around him, taking hold of his arms and legs, keeping him in place. The demon posing as Valwyn stops in front of him, and her eyes change to the same green as earlier. 

“Count yourself lucky I am not desire.” The warped voice says, “At least you know this is all in your head.” The demon lifts a hand and gently strokes the side of his face, he shivers violently at the contact.

“Although I could invite her to join us if you wish. We have an agreement when it comes to you. And _we_ do so enjoy playing with you, little Templar.” The hand runs down his neck and across the metal of his chestplate. Cullen begins to struggle against the demons holding him. He still has his sword in his hand, if only he can free himself enough to use it against this abomination.

“Ah there’s life in him still. This will be entertaining. Come let us join the _others_ in the main hall.” 

The demons with their vice-like grips, push him forward so that he follows Valwyn’s strutting figure back through the doorway. He remembers a time when he would have stared without shame as her silhouette walked passed him, just so that he could watch the sway of her hips the demon imitates so perfectly. It makes him sick watching it now. He closes his eyes as they push him forward, he can’t take much more of this. They will break him tonight, as he suspects they do every night. He is a fool to think that he would be able to resist them, that he would be able to break free.

They haven’t gone very far when a shout makes the demons stop. Cullen’s eyes open and he watches as the demon spins around and stares, almost confused, at something behind him. While he’s curious, he’s not in a position to look around himself.

“You brought friends with you. How delightful. I’ve always wanted to meet your friends little Templar.” The demon certainly does not sound pleased. “Fetch the other one. Our game will be all the better.”

Half the demon’s holding onto him leave and rush away giving Cullen a chance to free himself. Even with fear coursing through him, he has enough self preservation left in him to push back. The lesser demons still holding onto him dig their claws into his armor, crushing it against his limbs, but he continues to struggle against them. He doesn’t notice the demon masquerading as Valwyn approach him again until she grasps his chin and pulls his head down to look at her. 

“You think you can escape me. But we’ve only just started having fun.” The demon brings her mouth to his and bites down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood. He jerks his head away and the demon laughs showing its elongated canine teeth. As far as he knew, Valwyn didn’t have teeth like that. 

Cullen hears a scuffle somewhere behind him and the demon looks over his shoulder looking even more annoyed. He takes the opportunity and drops his body weight, finally freeing himself from the demons’ grasping hands. With his sword arm free, Cullen quickly rolls backwards and gets himself into a crouch with the weapon raised in front of him. This gives the lesser demons pause, just enough that he’s able to launch himself onto the closest of them and drive his sword through it. The remaining two lesser demons jump back when their brethren falls, but Valwyn does not. The fear demon metamorphoses into its true form, screaming as it does.

Cullen holds his ground, with his sword in front of him ready to fight the monster before him. The creature screams again and rears up towering over him. Just as he is about to make his first attack, a dagger suddenly slams into the demon’s head, making it scream for a third time before dropping to the ground. Cullen stares at the dagger sticking out of the body. 

He knows that dagger, he swears he’s seen it before. 

The lesser demons flee into the Fade while Cullen continues to study the hilt before him. The ivory and jade handle has a leaf and vine pattern, flowing along as if the weapon belonged on display in a garden instead of being used to kill demons. With the little that he knows about the elves, the dagger screams Dalish. How in the Maker has it wound up here?

The floor groans behind him and he whirls around sword at the ready.

He freezes the instant he completes his spin. 

Sarenna. 

It’s the Herald. Maker’s Breath, what is she doing in his nightmare?

She looks different. Her hair, for one is long, very long. Her cheeks beneath her tattoos are swollen, and he can’t help but notice how young she looks. She stands a good distance from him and isn’t moving any closer. She looks…… confused. And she’s holding the twin of the dagger that’s sticking out of the body behind him. She’s holding the dagger like she knows how to use it, and won’t hesitate to do. He notices beyond her, the lesser demons littered across the ground.

“That explains a lot.” Her voice is soft as she gazes at him, her expression wary. “They’ll be back,” she nods in the direction of the dead demons, “This is only a dream, we’d have to enter the Fade proper for them to stay dead.” She makes no move to come towards him. 

She’s here. Saren- The Herald, is here. He watches as she continues to study him, continues to keep her distance, while continuing to grip the dagger in her hand. He resists the urge to run to her and make sure she’s alright. She fought off the demons, by herself. Why would she do that for him? She doesn’t hide the fact that she’d gladly let creatures of the Fade have him, it seems strangely out of character for her. And yet, he’s still happy, almost excited, that she’s here. 

He barely notices as the landscape changes around them while he looks at her. The walls of Kinloch Hold melt away to gray mist and rocky ground. While the stark landscape is miles better than the horrors of the tower, Cullen can’t help but wonder how she got here. 

How is this even possible?

The answer he comes up with sends a chill down his spine.

Demon.

This _must_ be another demon. Why else would she be here. He panics for a moment, thinking what kind of demon has chosen to torture him now. Is it the desire demon Fear mentioned earlier or some other kind? How does it keep it’s voice steady? 

Her expression goes from wary to angry. “Commander, I just banished these demons. If you for one second think I’m a demon as well then-” He doesn’t let her finish but begins to charge towards her with his sword raised. Fear may be able to render him useless, but whatever emotion this demon masters is not an effective weapon against him.

She spins around and begins running from him. Fleeing just as the other lesser demons did. He will catch it, and he will slay it. _This_ he promises himself.

Cullen’s eyes never leave the mass of red hair that streams after the figure ahead of him. It must be desire. How else would it know he wondered what she would look like if her hair weren’t cropped so short. How else would it know to tease him first with visions of Valwyn, and then have the Herald appear. Fear suggested that he wouldn’t know Desire if she were present. Rage builds inside of him, spurring him to run faster.

The demon runs through the mist as if it’s life depends on it. It most certainly does. She looks back quickly, and he can’t help but note the wariness in her eyes has turned to dread. He didn’t realize that demons could fear. He’s glad this one is fearful of him, just as he’s feared all the demon’s that have tortured him. 

The mist around them suddenly changes and trees erupt from the ground. A lush forest, complete with moist, humid air and bird song makes him slow his mad chase. He wonders a moment how this is possible, but then notices the demon running further away. He catches sight of the vivid hair as it darts behind a moss covered tree trunk. With a grunt, he picks up his pace while having to dodge roots and low hanging branches. His armor is bulky and he realizes he’s not as agile as he needs to be to navigate this type of terrain. As much as the forest confused him, the shedding of his armor for his training leathers, does not. He keeps his sword in hand as he runs, following the blips of movement he spots as the demon continues to run.

Cullen runs and runs and runs. He runs until his lungs scream for air, for him to stop. But he can’t, not until he destroys the demon. Not until he can put this nightmare to rest. Branches continue to whip past him. He has to avoid a sudden dip in the ground, and stumbles, barely catching himself. He can just barely keep the demon in his sights. He needs something to slow it down, since the forest is clearly not. A loud, rumbling noise startles the former Templar a moment before he focuses on getting back to his previous speed.

A shout up ahead alerts him that he’s gaining ground, although he’s surprised the demon’s made any noise at all. It doesn’t take him long to come across a large clearing with a cliff face at the opposite end. The demon stands at the base looking upward, she hasn’t noticed him yet. Cullen quietly approaches her from behind while she sheaths the dagger. He watches as she begins to feel along the rock in front of her, looking for hand holds. He’s not very far from her when he steps on something that snaps. He freezes in place as she whips around. There is no doubting the despair in her expression. 

“Got you.” He lunges forward, lifting his sword so that he can bring it down on the demon.

The demon’s lips move and she brings her clenched fist in front of her, then splays her hand open right as he swings his weapon down. Cullen’s hands go numb as his sword comes down on the barrier. His back hits the ground hard as he’s thrown backwards and his head rebounds on a rock causing his vision to go blurry for a second. He gingerly picks himself off the ground, worried that the demon will take the opportunity to escape. Except when he looks over to where he expects to see the demon standing, he instead notices that she’s sprawled on the ground just as he is, at the base of the cliff. 

Cullen looks around wildly for his sword, and sees it lying on the ground not far to his left. He rolls onto his feet quickly and rushes over to the weapon while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the prone form of the demon. With his blade in hand, he once more advances on the figure, certain that he will slay it this time. Sweat drips into his eyes, but he doesn’t care as he comes to stand over the likeness of the Herald. The demon blinks its eyes rapidly, as if trying to clear them.

“Begone demon!” He shouts as he lifts the blade for the final time and plunges it into the figure at his feet. She lurches once around the blade, pain transforming her features, and then slowly disappears. Melting away as if she were never truly there. Cullen stares at the spot where his blade sticks out of the ground wondering what sort of trick this is now.

He spins around looking about wildly, as if trying to catch sight of her, fleeing from him once more, but the forest around him is void of movement. He stands still and listens for anything, but even the birds and insects have gone silent. Cullen slowly turns and grasps the hilt of his blade, ripping it from the ground. He feels better with the sword in his hands. He wasn’t able to defeat Fear, but at least it was useful against whatever demon this was. He looks around one more time, intending to pick a direction to walk in, when he hears a strange thump.

He freezes in place, not sure what the sound is. Seconds pass and nothing happens, he begins to relax.

And then he hears it again. 

Cullen jerks awake, flailing his limbs around the blanket that covers him in the small bed. He looks around in the dark of his cabin wondering what woke him. He was having a rather strange dream, and visions of a forest fade quickly from his mind. He rubs a hand over face and sits up trying to calm his racing heart. He decides he doesn’t want to know what he was dreaming about, knowing that the majority of his dreams are in fact nightmares. It’s simply better to let the memories fade. 

“It’s probably still too early for dawn.” He tells himself. While the thought of getting rest is alluring, he’s not sure he’ll actually get any if he tries to sleep again.

A muffled sound outside the cabin quickly gets his attention. He frowns while throwing the blanket to the side. Ignoring his boots, he cautiously makes his way to the door, listening carefully. Pressing his ear to the door, it sounds like someone speaking in a low voice. Now wondering just who is at his door in the dead of the night, Cullen pulls it open quickly. 

And stares confused at the Herald.

She froze as soon as the door opened, and looks back at him with fury in her eyes. She’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, when he escorted her to her cabin. Saying she looked disheveled would be putting it mildly. Her hair is sticking up in every direction and simultaneously falling across her eyes, and he can still see the marks across her cheeks where she rested against the bedding. Is she still drunk?

A gust of wind blows past them, and he can see her visibly shiver. He has to fight the urge to reach out to her.

She says nothing but continues to glare daggers at him, while breathing in deeply, as if trying to steady herself, with her fists clenched tightly. She must still be drunk.

Cullen isn’t sure what to say, or how to break the awkward silence he finds himself in. While he can’t say that he’s upset with the number of times he’s interacted with the Herald this night, he knows she doesn’t feel the same. The fact that she’s standing outside his cabin on her own volition, is however, still a mystery. Perhaps she’s starting to change her mind about him, or even come to thank him for his aid earlier in the evening?

Her expression changes suddenly, and she looks as if she’s about to say something. She opens her mouth, and then immediately closes it again. The elf in front of him does this several more times before she decides she’s had enough. She takes a step forward and Cullen fights the instinct to take a step backwards, holding his ground instead. The look on her face is most decidedly not friendly.

She points at him while leaning forward slightly. “Stay. Away. From me.” Her voice is strained, but deadly serious.

Of all the things she could have said, he was not expecting that. 

Her mind is not changed then.

He watches, still silently, as she turns and marches steadily back towards her own cabin. 

Not drunk either.

Cullen frowns as she moves further away. Maker’s Breath, what in Andraste’s name was that about? Was she really so upset that he helped her back to her cabin earlier? Yes, they haven’t exactly seen eye to eye during the council meetings, but did she really feel so strongly against him that she felt the need to come here and threaten him? 

Cullen rubs the back of his neck pondering the reasons for her visit, while stepping back into the cabin and closing the door. He lets out a long sigh, and looks towards the hearth. A chill has taken over the small cabin once more, and he doesn’t think he’ll get back to sleep at this point. It doesn’t take him very long to get the fire started, and he stands for a moment looking into the small flames as they catch the wood. 

He’s still not sure why the Herald appears to hate him so much. She certainly didn’t seem to the day they reinstated the Inquisition. In fact, Rylen was more than pleased to point out that the Herald of Andraste couldn’t keep her eyes off of him, in much the same manner that Cullen couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Somehow, when they returned from the Hinterlands, that changed. To be sure he still can’t keep his eyes to himself. But Saren- The Herald…. It’s almost as if she’s afraid of him.

Is it because he used to be a Templar? Could Varric have told her what he was like in Kirkwall? There are so many aspects of his past that he’s not proud of, that he wishes he could go back and change. She could have found out anyone of those things, but what would cause her to react in the manner that she is? Cullen massages his temples, he’s sure he won’t be able to tease out the answer to that question tonight. He’ll simply have to show her that he’s not the man she thinks he is, in whatever way he can. 

The fire illuminates the papers on this desk. He drops his hands from his head and picks up the missive about the daggers once more. The first thing he’ll do is to make sure that these reports stop. Given how the Herald is reacting to some perceived threat, he’s not sure he wants to know how she’ll react to something like this. His personal feelings aside, they need her to stay and help them, she is the only one with the ability to do anything about the rifts that have opened all over Thedas. As the Commander, it is his duty to protect the Inquisition’s interests, and the Herald is most certainly the largest of the Inquisition’s interests. As well as his, even if he tries to deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was planning on getting this out last week, and then we had a hurricane. (I'm in Dallas so I'm safe, but I work in the public sector so I was busy doing a lot of relief work).
> 
> But hope you guys like this, already working on the next chapter. This should be the last "death" chapter, and things will start to get interesting from here on out. That doesn't mean they won't be gruesome or whatever else kind of weird I decide to throw in here. I apologize for any typos or what not, I tried to get them all, but I'm sure there's still ones that I missed.
> 
> Until next time!


	8. The Warden

* * *

####  Sarenna 

* * *

She walks side by side with Solas through the dense mist, neither of them really knowing where they are headed. They have been searching the Fade, looking for memories of Arcane Warriors so that she can learn. Sarenna is amazed at the control Solas has over the dream realm, he is able to bend it to his will in a way she can only _dream_ of. Every night they have been on the road, she becomes aware within the mist, Solas waiting patiently in the distance for her to join him. It is a much needed reprieve from her nightmares. _All_ her nightmares. 

While her last bout of horrific dreaming revealed much, it also left her in a state of exhaustion and panic. After waking up and confronting the Commander, another thing she wishes hadn’t happened, the rest of the night and morning was an ironic reminder of the last time she came to the Hinterlands. Cassandra finding her before the sun even rose, Sarenna telling her of her intentions to leave, the mandatory argument between the two, and then a mad scramble of gathering people and supplies before the Herald marched out of Haven like a pack of wild mabari was chasing her. Well really, just a lone, former Templar. He was almost like a wild mabari.

But the nightmare itself revealed quite a bit. Much more than Sarenna wanted to know at any rate. The Breach is clearly not the Commander’s first run in with demons. And just who was the elf the demon impersonated? At first glance, she honestly thought it was herself! It took longer than she liked to admit to realize that the elf with the flaming hair was not in fact her. No the demon was impersonating someone from the Commander’s past, someone who bore a striking resemblance to Sarenna. Someone who clearly meant a great deal to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been as tortured as he was by the demons. That in itself is terrifying.

She could hear their whispers in her head, calling out to her, looking for her fears, trying to find a way to break her as well. It is not the same demon that haunts her dreams, Despair has it’s own unique flavour when it plays with her, but any demon can bring you to your knees if they play the right cards, find the right memories. Fear will need more time with her before it can break down her walls the way Despair is able to. 

However as much as Sarenna despises the Commander at the moment, she can understand now, at least a little bit, why he slaughters her every night when she is near. She’s still not sure why their dreams merge, perhaps it has something to do with the way the demons attack them both in the Fade, or something else. But the Commander is not a mage, he’s a templar. He doesn’t have the faintest idea of the realities of the Fade. Why would he believe she’s anything other than another demon? The only magical education he has is how to destroy magic, not what it’s capable of.

Just because she understands, doesn’t mean her opinion of him is changed. She’s still terrified that the fury she see in his eyes while they dream will appear while they are awake. She’s still afraid of the lyrium that runs in his veins as it calls out to her, even if it is different than those of the other Templars, for reasons unknown. And she’s still angry at herself for the constant attraction that something inside of her insists on feeling towards him. 

It is this last feeling, that bothers her the most. Since she’s woken up from stabilizing the breach, she’s spent collectively less than a week in Haven, really only a handful of days around the Commander. She doesn’t know him at all, other than he looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, and that his voice could charm the pants off of anyone if only he wanted to. She knows from Varric that he did much more than “clean up the mess” in Kirkwall. He was in fact one of the Templars in a position to do something about the violence in the city, and instead turned a blind eye until it was too late. Cassandra has commented little on him while Varric tells stories around their campfires, but she senses that the Seeker has other information she wishes to counter the Rogue’s tales with.

In essence she knows next to nothing about the man, other than her heart speeds up when he’s around. Partially because she’s afraid of him, and partially because she wonders what he looks like without any clothes on. 

Sarenna makes a disgusted sound, something similar to what Cassandra normally does. Out of the corning of her eye, she sees Solas look at her quizzically. She should not be thinking about the Commander while she wanders the Fade with her fellow mage. It’s silly, but sometimes she honestly believes that he can read her mind. 

“Is something troubling you Ren?”

“I just thought we would have found a memory by now. They way you spoke of your experiences in the Fade, I had hoped we would have found at least something…”

“One cannot map the Fade as you do the waking realm. Memories thrive around the real world yes, but we must first find a site of some significance. Unfortunately for us, all of those who know where those places would be, are long gone from this world.”

“Then how have you found so many interesting histories?” 

“I have sought them out in obvious places. We are limited by the routes we travel. Even if we were to find place of power, there is no guarantee that we will find the memories of another _Dirth’ena Enasalin_.”

She huffs out a breath upward, making the bangs on her forehead dance about. “You would still think we’d have found something.” She says once more sullenly.

“In time we will.”

The silence stretches between them, but it is a comfortable silence. The two elves walk the land of dreams keeping their eyes alert for anything through the mists that continue to swirl about them. Sarenna wishes, not for the first time since they’ve travelled together like this, that she had the innate ability to walk the Fade as Solas does. The things she could see and learn! The nightmares she could stop! But then again, her talents lay elsewhere. She doubts Solas, even with all that he’s seen and the power that she feels rippling within him, would be able to outdo her in what she does best. 

Did best.

It has been months since she’s wielded any daggers. Even if they aren’t her father’s, she can summon forth the spirit blades with ease, but she needs a medium with which to work with. Something that she can anchor the energies of the Fade into the real world. She hopes that by the time they have finished here in the Hinterlands, Harrit will have the daggers ready for her. She has no clue how long they’ll be in this part of Ferelden for this time around. It’s strange to think that it’s been nearly a month since she was here last. Her travels to Orlais took much longer than expected.

“We still haven’t discussed what I discovered about Madame de Fer.” She says quickly.

“There is very little for us to discuss. The Court Enchantress was not in Haven by the time we left, and so I cannot as of yet help you determine the nature of the energies you felt from her.”

“Should we not at least come up with a plan?”

His laugh is crystal clear, but still manages to bounce around in the fog that surrounds them. “A plan for what exactly? Are we to set the ‘Inquisition’ upon her?”

“I…..Solas do not mock me! I know the energies about her were familiar, too familiar. She has stumbled across something Dalish. I need to know what.”

“Then why not simply ask her once we are all at Haven?”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” Sarenna thinks back to her first meeting with the Court Enchantress. Perhaps Vivienne will not be as intimidating once she’s away from her Orlesian chateau. She’ll need to think of someway to get the information from the mage.

“Whether it’s wise or not, I believe our journey is coming to an end.”

Sarenna turns towards the other elf, only to jolt awake on her sleeping mat. The tent canvas is inches from her face where she lays on her side. She gingerly turns over to see that Cassandra has already risen and left the confines of their shelter, however Sera is still snoring _peacefully_ , limbs sprawled out in every direction imaginable.The Herald takes a moment to steady her breathing and stretch out the kink between her shoulder blades. While she finds immense value in these night time sojourns, she is annoyed at the way Solas barely ever gives her any warning when they are nearing dawn. It’s not enough to warrant a complaint, but enough to make her roll her eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say the elf has a rather devious side to him. A little trickster in hiding. 

Carefully, so as not to awaken Sera, she untangles the travel blankets from her legs, and emerges into the early morning sunlight that is just starting to pour over the horizon. While the weather isn’t as cold as the frostbacks, the air has enough bite to it that she can see her breath, and a layer of frost dusted over nearby foliage. A couple of scouts have a mid sized fire burning with breakfast bubbling away in the pot overtop of it. 

She spots Cassandra quickly, who is studying a map of the region. Sarenna makes her way over to the Seeker reminding herself to keep her mouth in check. The Nevarran appears to bring out the worst in Clan Lavellan’s First. Her mother would be so disappointed if she could see how easily this woman brought out every juvenile tendency.

“Good morning Cassandra.” She _will_ do her best to be polite.

“Herald.” She says the word not unkindly, but neither does she sound pleased. “I assume you slept well.”

“I'm not sure, between being crammed into the tent and Sera’s snoring, it's hard to say.”

The Seeker surprises her with bark of laughter. “Yes, I suppose that is one way to put it.” The mirth in her eyes fades and they become serious. “It has occurred to me that I don't know very much about you. Tell me, where are you from?”

Sarenna is not expecting this question from the Seeker, especially not this early in the morning. 

“The Free Marches mostly. Although we never stayed in one place very long. Really we’ve been everywhere from the deserts of Orlais and the Kocari Wilds, all the way to the Silent Plains in Nevarra.”

“You have travelled through Nevarra?” The Seeker does nothing to hide her surprise.

“We’re a nomadic clan Cassandra. We travel wherever the wind blows.” 

“Do you intend to return to your clan once this is all done, whenever that might be?”

Sarenna studies the Seeker for a moment before replying. “Certainly. They are my family after all.”

“It will not be the same once you do.”

“I know.” The words come out quietly as she looks down to her palm. “Nothing will ever be the same again, not after something like this.” She raises her hand to show the woman. As if Cassandra Pentaghast needs a reminder of what has happened.

“I’m sorry.” 

Their conversation ends as both women stare awkwardly at the table between them. One of the scouts indicates that breakfast is ready, and Sarenna silently leaves the Seeker in order to fill her hungry belly. 

The Herald is quiet for the remainder of their time in camp. Not even Solas can coax anything from her other than a mumbled ‘morning’. It takes longer than Sarenna likes to finish rousing the rest of their party, particularly Sera, who was once more drinking into the night with Varric. She wonders just how much alcohol those two have gone through in the short time they’ve known each other. The dwarf shows no signs that he’d imbibed, as per usual. It must be a dwarven trait she decides. 

The sun is much higher in the sky by the time they finally get under way. Leliana’s scouts were able to further determine the area they were likely to find Warden Blackwall. With any luck, they should make contact with the man by the end of the day. The cloud that dampened her spirit during her conversation with Cassandra is lifted at the thought of meeting the Grey Warden. It’s been years, a decade to be exact, since she last encountered any warden. Ten years since a group of wardens saved her clan from the beginning of the Blight.

The remainder of her clan has remained ever grateful to them. They were shown what could happen when you questioned your learned prejudices.The group that rescued them was composed of humans, city elves and a number of surface dwarves. That humans were capable of compassion, that flat ears were not limited to the circumstance of their birth, that dwarves were not all obsessed about gold and worrying that the sky was going to fall on them, changed their clan for the better.

It was the actions of those wardens that convinced the Keeper of Clan Lavellan that perhaps there was a different way to live, a different way to be Dalish. In fact a number of their younger members even begged Deshanna to join the wardens as thanks for their timely rescue. Her mother of course, didn’t allow this. While the clan survived, they had taken considerable losses when the darkspawn attacked them. They were needed at home. Perhaps in time, she’d reconsider their request, but for the time being every able body was needed to help restore the clan.

Sarenna wipes sweat off her brow as they climb a steep incline and is slightly amazed that the morning could have such a chill to it, and yet a few hours later she is wishing for those cooler temperatures to return. According to the map Cassandra was studying that morning, they are headed towards Lake Luthias. Traces of Warden Blackwall were last found along it’s shores. She hopes they are able to find the warden quickly. The Hinterlands have proven to be full of tasks that should be completed before she’s able to turn her attention towards the mages in Redcliffe.

“Seeker, I noticed nothing’s been done about the Red Lyrium we found at the Temple.”

“Varric, I noticed that is none of your concern.” Cassandra’s irritated voice replies.

“Oh on contraire! Red Lyrium in those kinds of quantities concerns me greatly. In fact, it should concern just about everyone. I believe you visited our little shrine to a certain Knight-Commander in Kirkwall. A shrine no one wants to go near.” The dwarf passes Sarenna as he attempts to catch up to Cassandra who is striding ahead of the group. “There’s a reason for that. It’s _Dangerous_!”

“Ugh!” 

She can only see the woman’s back, but she’s sure there’s an eyeroll that goes along with the noise.

“Your great concern is noted Varric. However that will not move the matter along any further. We, as of yet, do not know what to do with the lyrium.”

“Here’s an idea. Destroy it!”

Sarenna tunes out the two in front of her as they devolve into one of their usual verbal sparring matches. She doesn’t like thinking about the red lyrium sitting in the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. If she thought the song from Templars was bad, it is nothing compared with what assaulted her as they drew near the site of the explosion. 

The shrieking of the song was able to pierce through her head in ways she didn’t know were even possible. She remembers staggering through the ruins, there was always a hand to help her back up. No one knew why it was she kept having to stop and “catch her breath”. Cassandra had mentioned at one point that using the mark must have been draining on her. The mark was truly insignificant at that point. She certainly hopes that they’ve dealt with the lyrium in the temple by the time they figure out how to close Breach, because she’s not sure that she’ll be able to wholly concentrate on the task at hand if she has to fight an invisible battle as well.

She looks up as she reaches the top of the hill they were climbing and takes a moment to appreciate the sight before her. Lake Luthias is closer than she imagined, and it is a hidden gem. The water ripples slightly as a light breeze disturbs the surface. Sarenna notices the view of the valley below and thinks to herself that this wouldn’t be a bad place to remember. Now if only there were a hot spring nearby, it would be utterly perfect.

“Beautiful, isn’t it.” Solas stands beside her. His soft voice doesn’t surprise her for once. Another thing she’s learned about the elf, he certainly loves sneaking up on people.

“It is.”

“This is where the Warden was last seen, if the notes I read were correct.”

“Hopefully they are.” 

The others pause a moment by the bank, but do not stop as the the elves have.

“Oh look, a pretty picture. You know there’s loads of nice shite places to look at yeh?”

“Sera!”

The rogue continues to walk past Sarenna, “I’m just sayin’, maybe we need to keep moving and not lookin’ at all the pretty flowers.”

The Herald entertains the thought of lighting the other elf’s tunic on fire, but then thinks better of it. There’s no need to stoop to Sera’s level. Besides, she likes Sera. She instead rolls her eyes so only Solas can see and moves along to try and catch up with Cassandra, who has the best idea of where they are headed.

The Seeker glances at Sarenna and nods, barely, as she makes her way to her side. The two don’t start up a conversation, they’ve learned over the last few weeks that they can get along better if they don’t. The path they’re on leads them along the lake shore, and towards a shallow creek. They stop at the water’s edge and Cassandra points to the opposite bank in the distance.

“There. Do you see that cabin?” The Seeker doesn’t wait for a reply, “That’s where the scout’s last saw him.”

“Then we’re close?” Sarenna’s surprised. She isn’t expecting to have gotten this close already. In all honesty she’s excited. 

“Yes. We had best continue on. There is still much for us to do.”

“You don’t say, I almost forgot.”

Cassandra turns her head sharply towards her, and Sarenna immediately regrets allowing her mouth to run the mill. She does her best innocent smile, and is relieved when the Nevarran simply shakes her head and starts forward without another word. 

Oh Mythal help her, she’s not very good at this.

Sarenna doesn’t wait for an invitation, but trudges through the creek after the Seeker. The others take their time following the two women, Sera even complains about having to get her feet wet before making her way through the shallow, but frigid water. They ascend another hill and soon enough they can make out a series of docks leading to the small cabin. But more importantly, they can make out a number of figures who look like they’re going through training drills.

“That must them.” Cassandra actually sounds hopeful.

“Do we know what the warden looks like?” She asks, once more trying to catch up to the Seeker.

“The scouts didn’t leave a physical description. But I’m going to assume he’ll be the one wearing Warden regalia.”

The elf nods once. Luckily for her, she just happens to be acquainted with the warden’s uniforms.

As their group approaches the docks, the drill orders drift across the water to their ears. None of the men ahead seem to notice the five of them as they make their way closer. They cross the last dock, and Sarenna easily picks out the warden. Even from behind he looks like a soldier, while the other men, - and calling them men is being generous - barely look like they know which end of the stick to hold. The Warden on the other hand holds himself with confidence, he swings the sword with precision, and barks orders as if he’s spent his entire life doing so.

Something catches Sarenna’s eye and she carefully turns to the right and stops short. 

“You see that too?” Sera asks quietly from behind her.

“I’m not sure what I saw.”

“It’s probably nothing good, knowing what we know ‘bout these parts.”

“Keep an eye out Sera, I’ll inform Cassandra.”

She almost has to jog to catch up to the Seeker, who is so focused on the men ahead of them that she barely notices she’s left her companions behind.

“Cassandra!...... Cassandra!” Sarenna whispers loudly trying to get her attention. 

The Seeker turns her head suddenly, glaring at the Herald.

“Something’s not right. Sera and I both swear we saw something, but we can’t -” 

“I’ll deal with it. You speak to this warden.” The warrior angrily brushes past her towards Sera, who is looking intently towards the edge of the hill. Both Varric and Solas look back and forth between the two women as they approach, the looks on their faces suggest they assume that the Seeker and their Herald have quarrelled once more. 

Sarenna tries to give them her best ‘keep a look out’ face before continuing on towards the man she assumes is the warden they’ve been looking for. If truth be told, she’s rather shocked that they’ve found him this easily. The way Leliana spoke about him made it seem as if he was almost a ghost. 

“Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?” She asks as she makes her way past the cabin that hid the men from view.

The dark haired man turns, and for a moment times stops. Much like when she first laid eyes on the Commander, before she discovered his penchant for demonic homicide, her body reacts sharply to the sight before her. She feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her, and has to take a quick inhale of air. Sarenna notices as the grey-blue eyes beneath the thick dark brows widen in surprise. She wonders how many times he’s broken his nose, and how he got the injuries. She badly wants to rush forward and run her hands through his dark chocolate hair, while at the same time imagining what his beard would feel like pressed against her cheek. 

She knows this feeling well by now, and she quickly sends a prayer to Mythal that this newest infatuation isn’t as deadly as the last. 

And then he starts forwards in long graceful strides, and it’s all she can do to keep her hands by her sides instead of reaching towards him.

“You’re not- How do you know my name?” He stands close enough to her that she has to lift her chin to look up at him. He smells of the fir trees and evergreens that surround them.

“Who sent y- ahh” And it happens so fast, that she’s not even sure what’s happening.

If she’s not mistaken, there’s an arrow tip poking through the shield he’s holding up inches from her head. 

There's an arrow staring her in the face and she’s looking back and forth between it and the man who just saved her as if she’s never seen the like before.

Mythal help her, because she’s obviously in desperate need of it.

Men come screaming from the distance and she swears she can hear Sera yelling “I found them!”

“That’s it! Help or get out, we’re dealing with these idiots first.” And then he’s gone to rally the men behind him as their attackers continue to charge forward with frightening speed. 

One is skewered by an arrow through the throat before he can run more than a few paces, and she can definitely hear Sera’s shout this time. Sarenna’s limbs suddenly remember how to function and she quickly unhooks the staff from her back and stands ready against the onslaught. With a well placed ward, she ignores the first of the bandits and reaches through space and Fade steps as far as she can past the men.

Arrows and blades and magic and bodies clash in a blur in front of her. She can hear the sounds of Bianca discharging, Cassandra screaming as she rushes forward into the melee, and the crackle of electrical energy coming from Solas’ staff. There are six in total. Well there were six, that number is decreasing by the second. Sarenna freezes one of the men in place just as Cassandra reaches him, resulting in their signature battle tactic of causing bodies to shatter. She still isn’t used to seeing the ice fly the way it does, even though she’s witnessed this happen a number of times in the past few weeks.

The Herald twirls her staff in front of herself and casts only a handful of spells before she realizes that all their attackers have been dealt with. She keeps her staff in hand as she looks around wary for more of these bandits. Sera appears to have the same thoughts, as the other elf keeps an arrow notched in her bow while glancing back over her shoulder. She looks over to Varric and Solas, who have decided the fight is most certainly over, and are casually stowing their own weapons.

Seranna takes a few tentative steps forward until she’s close enough to hear Cassandra's heavy breathing and sounds of disgust as she cleans her sword on one of the bodies. She cautiously passes the Seeker and makes her way towards Blackwall.

“Sorry Bastards.” She can hear his muttering even from this distance.

He stands and turns abruptly, addressing the men who are with him. She waits for him to finish his speech and watches as the farmers before him, his ‘conscripts’, lumber away as if in a daze, before moving any closer. The man is clearly trying to make some sort of difference in this mess they all find themselves in. Even if he weren’t a warden, she thinks, he is a man worth recruiting to their cause.

He’s once again only a few feet from her and she has to fight to keep her breathing steady as she takes the last couple steps towards him. There must be something seriously wrong with the water in Ferelden, it’s causing her to have strange reactions around ridiculously attractive men.

“You’re no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

The man certainly has questions. Unfortunately so does she.

“I know your name because I’m an agent of the Inquisition. I’m investigating whether the disappearance of wardens has anything to do with the murder of the divine.”

“Maker’s balls,” She tries not to snicker at the unexpected profanity, “the wardens and the divine? That can’t - no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.” 

Blackwall pauses a moment while looking down at her feet.

“First off, I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more blight, job done, wardens are the first thing forgotten.” 

He says it so matter of factly, that Sarenna can’t help the pained look on her face. 

_Maybe some forget the Wardens - not everyone does._

“But one thing I’ll tell you,” he quickly continues on, “No warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political”

“I’m not here to accuse. Not yet, and hopefully never. I just need information.” The words hurt even as she says them. She wasn’t considering that the wardens had anything to do with the massacre, at least not until Blackwall said it. The disappearance and the Breach being linked is one thing, but having one be the cause of the other? That is a conclusion Sarenna would have never come to on her own. She has far too much respect for the order to think them being capable of such an atrocity.

“I’ve only found you. Where are the rest?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me.”

_They may not, but we just might,_ she thinks.

“Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

“Do you have any idea where the other Wardens could have gone?”

“Maybe they returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt? That’s in the Anderfels, a long way north. I don’t really know. Can’t imagine why they’d all disappear at once, let alone where they’d disappear to.”

The breeze shifts and his scent assaults her once more. She takes a moment to quickly form another question so she doesn’t say something stupid. “Why haven’t you gone missing like the rest of them?”

_Mythal, I’m certainly glad you haven’t._

“Well, maybe I was going to. Or maybe there’s a new directive, but a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay that way for months. Years!”

Without thinking, she steps closer to him so there’s no doubt that she’s in his personal space. She doesn’t lift her head, only her eyes, as she speaks to him. “Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall. But now where does that leave us?”

And then she’s walking past him. Past the warm body that she wants to wrap her arms around. Past the eyes she has to fight to look away from. Past the broad shoulders and solid arms that have already saved her life this day. He hasn’t given her any answers, only a wanting she can’t ignore. Unlike her Templar problem, she has no reason to distrust this man, and yet she keeps her feet steady as she steps away from him. 

By the gods! What is wrong with her?

She is supposed to be searching for information about the wardens for the Inquisition, not hoping the bear of a man behind her will follow her into the woods. Sarenna mentally smacks herself, not wanting to physically manifest the war that is raging inside of her.

“Inquisition…..Agent, did you say? Hold a moment!”

The words wash over her and she can’t help but stop in her tracks at the sound. She cautiously turns back to Blackwall, only to see the warden jogging over to her. For a moment she thinks she sees something in his expression, but he quickly schools his features.

“The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.”

He pauses, and she watches as his eyes scan her, searching for more words to say. 

“If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a warden. Maybe you need me.”

_Oh Mythal, I certainly do._ She wishes he wasn’t standing so far away, but then once more remembers why she’s here in the first place.

“The Inquisition needs all the support it can get, but what can one Grey Warden do?”

She says the words knowing full well what one grey warden can do. She knows all too well how one grey warden can save a life.

“Save the fucking world, if pressed.” The look he gives her makes her mouth dry up, and she feels far too warm, even if she’s just fought in a squirmish and been hiking through the Hinterlands all morning. It is the wrong kind of _warm_. “Look, maybe fighting demons isn’t something I’m practiced at, but show me someone who is. And like I said there are treaties. Maybe this isn’t a blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster. Some will honour them. Being a warden means something to a lot of people.”

She’s invoked Mythal’s name far too many times in the last fifteen minutes. She’ll need to start giving praise to Sylaise or Dirthamen. She’ll even start praying to the Dread Wolf if she needs to at this point. Instead she says something completely different.

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

_She_ accepts his offer. The rest of the Inquisition be damned.

“Good to hear, we both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long. This warden walks with the Inquisition.”

When he says that, all she hears is “ _This warden walks with_ you.”

Sarenna tries as hard as she can to not let her face split into a huge grin. Instead she manages to keep herself composed with a smirk and a nod at the man she wants to take a step closer to.

“Let’s head back to camp then, I’m sure we’ll need to inform the rest.” 

“Give me moment to gather my things, and we can be on our way.” 

She smiles, possibly too much, once more and reluctantly leaves him to tell Cassandra what’s happened. Sarenna spies Varric and Solas watching her as she makes her way towards the place she left the rest of her companions. The dwarf’s eyes gleam at her like he’s just found something very interesting, while the elf is nearly scowling. 

“See something you like back there Freckles?” 

She’s definitely smiling too much. And Varric is far too perceptive.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Surrrrrre, sure. I’m beginning to think I should have started to call you dimples instead.”

Before she can reply to the mortifying comment, Solas interjects.

“Ren, a word.” 

And he walks off, away from Varric and Sera who has only just sauntered over. She follows him silently back towards the docks, leaving the others behind. Sarenna vaguely notices Cassandra making her way back up the hill.

“Did you just invite the warden to join our cause?” His tone is almost accusatory.

“I did.” 

“That was not a wise decision.” 

She takes a small step back and looks at the other mage for a moment.

“Wise or not Solas, the wardens are a noble order, and that’s quite the compliment coming from a Dalish elf. They’ve saved my life before, and _this_ particular warden just saved my life again, so whether or not you deem it wise, I feel he’s earned the right to help us in any way he can.”

The elf looks thunderous for a moment, and Sarenna is scared and confused all at once before the wanderer composes himself into the calm demeanor he usually carries himself with.

“The wardens may have started out as a noble cause at their beginning but time and numbers do strange things to those we deem just and honourable. I pray this decision does not result in unfortunate consequences.” 

He doesn’t give her time to reply, but turns and leaves her standing by the water with those cryptic words floating in the air. Sarenna feels her eyebrows furrow as she stares after the elf.

_Just what is that all about?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Finally got this chapter posted. I apologize for the length of time between chapters. Life and, unfortunately, depression happen. But I just got back from a fantastic trip to Brazil, and hoping that I'll be feeling better. I'm always thinking about this story so don't worry it will be finished one day!  
> Hope you all enjoy, and comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	9. Here Be Dragons

* * *

####  Sarenna 

* * *

Sarenna would be lying if she said that she wasn’t absolutely terrified in this very moment. Yes the Hinterlands were beautiful with its numerous hidden waterfalls, incredible vistas, and quaint cottages. But the very same land also held a host of nightmares in it’s hidden craigs, valleys, and abandoned holdings. The roar sounds louder than it did a few seconds ago and she pushes herself back against the boulder she’s hiding behind, as if that will somehow hide her from the dragon that’s flying around.

Dragon.

They’d found a real, live dragon. 

And not _just_ a dragon. A _High Dragon_ of all things.

Sarenna looks to her left and can see Cassandra’s eyes open wide, looking wildly around, however the Seeker is doing her best to keep her facial expression stern, pretending that she’s not just as afraid as the Herald of Andraste. 

“I don’t think setting out immediately was a very good idea.” Sarenna whispers to the dark haired woman.

“Herald, I believe in this instance, you are correct.” The Nevarran whispers back, a slight quiver in her voice.

Both women flinch as a shadow passes over them. Sarenna looks up in time to see a mustard yellow tail lazily fly out of her view. The dragon appears to have circled around back towards the rear of the basin for the time being. The mage takes the brief moment to locate the other members of their Inquisition party. She immediately finds Varric, Blackwall, and Solas, who are also hiding for their lives behind similarly large boulders, but it takes her longer to find Sera, who she finally realizes is using all of her rogue abilities to camouflage into the foliage.

This was a terrible idea.

They’d spent the last two weeks wandering throughout the Hinterlands, trying to locate supplies, news, and as many agents as they could. For the most part, they’d succeeded. They’d even closed a few more fade rifts. The day before they were able to secure what they thought was a perfect camp spot they’d stolen from a group of surprisingly organized bandits. It didn’t take very long to get word to Harding, and by this morning they were comfortably waking up in their new accommodations.

The Inquisition was doing so well in fact, that when the Seeker and Sarenna both suggested they scout out the area behind the camp before Leliana’s scouts, everyone agreed without a second thought. 

The dragon’s roar echo’s off the walls around them again, but it’s volume suggests that the beast is much further away than before. The Herald takes one look at Cassandra who instantly nods as they make eye contact. Staying silent, both of them launch themselves off the rock face and run as fast as their legs will carry them through the shallow pond they stand in front of. 

Sarenna doesn’t have to look around to know that the others have taken their cue to run, she can hear her four other companions splashing through the water behind them. The group of them sprint as if their lives depend on it, because they do, towards the incline that leads to the small tunnel they first entered the beautiful basin through. If only they’d understood why this area seemed like such an untouched sanctuary. She notices as she makes it onto dry land, the remains that lie just off the path. The bones, that have already been bleached by the sun, are easy to mistake for birch branches.

Their collective breath is loud to Sarenna’s elven ears. But not as loud as the whoosh of dragon wings over head. She turns her head in time to see the great monster almost upon them.

“DOWN!” She yells, and they all drop, and dive, and tumble to the ground as the dragon passes directly over them.

Blackwall and Sera, who were still in the pond, come up sputtering for air. The rest of them crane their necks and watch the tail end of the dragon soar straight up into the air above them. Sarenna counts them lucky that it didn’t lead with its fiery breath. 

She’s up in an instant and working her legs to gain as much speed as she can. They need to get out of this dragon’s lair, and they need to do it fast, or the Inquisition is going to have to find itself another Herald of Andraste. She can still see the dragon’s shadow on the ground and pushes herself harder than she thought was possible to make it up the hill and into the cliff face. She curses silently at her staff, for with each running step she takes, the wood bounces painfully into her back.

The shadow hovers motionless in the air for a moment and then starts to grow in size. Sarenna leaps towards the tunnel entrance and hits the ground in a roll. The sound of the others rushing in behind her assures her that they haven’t been roasted yet, even as her momentum keeps her rolling over the rocky ground. She sits up as soon as she comes to a stop and shuffles around to visually confirm that everyone has made it to safety.

As she mentally counts five heads, she notices they are similarly sprawled all over the ground of the tunnel entrance. Sera’s wet hair is plastered to her face with the addition of several leaves and twigs and she quickly swipes an equally soaked arm across her head, in an attempt to clear her vision.

A painfully loud roar pierces the air as the dragon realizes it’s been denied its six course meal.

“Andraste’s Lily white ass!! Whose shite idea was that to go see a DRAGON!” The last word is not so much spoken, as much as yelled.

“We did not know there would be a dragon.” Cassandra’s ragged breath surprises Sarenna.

“And just when I think I’ve seen it all!” Varric’s breathing isn’t much better than the Seeker’s. “Hawke told me about the dragon at the bone pit, and I was happy enough to hear about, never once did I think, ‘Oh wouldn’t it be nice to go find a dragon myself!‘ ”

“Just everyone calm down.” She says between heaving breaths, “ We’re lucky enough it showed up when it did, and not when we could have been much farther from the tunnel.” She’s trying the best she can to get everyone focused, although her life is still flashing before her eyes as well.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? THAT WAS A DRAGON!” Sera has jumped up and is marching her way towards the red haired elf. “Do you know the kind of stories I can tell about that now? This is going to be amazing!” 

Sarenna is confused by the rogue’s change of attitude towards the giant flying flame breathing reptile.

“Hey! That’s supposed to be my line.” Varric barks while still sprawled on the ground, hugging Bianca to his chest.

“Well, I think that’s been enough near death experiences for one day. What do you say we head back to camp and warn the other scouts about our large friend.” The sound of Blackwall’s voice has Sarenna wanting to smile at once. 

She glances up at the burly man who is picking himself off the ground. His gaze sweeps across the others and stops when his eyes meet hers. She has to restrain herself from smiling and instead lets the corner of her lips twitch slightly. Sarenna doesn’t avert her eyes and finally can’t help a small smile breaking through when she sees the warden’s cheeks start to turn pink underneath the beard that covers most of his face. She looks away quickly feeling her own face flush, and hopes none of the others notice.

As she turns to push herself off the ground she catches a glimpse of Solas as he scowls at her. So much for hoping no one noticed. Solas hasn’t been pleased with Blackwall’s presence. He’s been cordial to the man, but she can see the way he looks at the warden when his back is turned, as if Solas is trying to stop himself from launching a spell at him. And she’s certainly noticed the disapproving looks he sends her way when she interacts with Blackwall, as little as that’s been. She asked Solas multiple times during their Fade walks about his behaviour, however the elf gives a non-answer each time, and changes the subject.

Unlike her relationship with the mage, she hasn’t let herself be alone with the warden. Not that she’s really had that opportunity while camping, and fighting, and foraging with the rest of the Inquisition around. She certainly doesn’t have the ability to infiltrate his dreams, unlike _someone_ who she’d rather not think about. Even when they rest for the night at their many camps around the Hinterlands, she’s sure to keep her distance from the man. She’s afraid of what she’ll do if she’s allowed to be near him _unsupervised_. 

Afraid in a _good_ way.

Not that that’s stopped either one of them from looking at each other when they think no one else will notice. 

She’s sure they’ve all noticed.

Except for Solas’ disapproving glares, no one has said a thing. She’s not sure how much longer that will be the case.

“That sounds like a much better plan, than the one that brought us out here.” Sarenna says brightly.

“I believe that plan was yours Herald.” The Seeker says dryly.

“Come now Cassandra, I can’t take _all_ the credit.”

The women freeze and look at each other in disbelief. 

Did they just…. joke?

Sarenna notices the way the Seeker’s eye crinkle in the corners as she does her best not to laugh. The Herald of Andraste doesn’t bother hiding her mirth, and lets a giggle escape while smiling in earnest at Nevarran for the first time ever.

It doesn’t take long after that for all six of them to get back on their feet, dust themselves off, and start back towards the camp, which incidentally isn’t far. In fact, they’re back with the other Inquisition scouts, who are standing with bows pointed towards the tunnel entrance, within minutes. The scouts relax somewhat as the group reveals themselves, however they keep their weapons at the ready.

“What…….What was that...noise?” One of them asks.

“Nothing to worry too much about there Bright Eyes.” Varric says nonchalantly as he passes by the scout, “Just a Dragon, we’ve got the situation under control.”

“Dragon!?” 

“And by under control he means, don’t wander back there.” Sarenna adds as she too makes her way past the scouts.

A figure at the rear of the camp captures her attention, and she makes her way over. Mihris, the lone dalish elf they stumbled upon the other day is still here. Not surprising really, considering how little time they spent “exploring” beyond the camp.

“I see the dragon’s cries didn’t frighten you off.” 

Mihris grimaces at Sarenna, her attempt at a smile. The Herald of Andraste doesn’t miss the far away look in her eyes. “I’ve faced worse things than a dragon _falon_.” 

Sarenna cocks her head slightly and really pays attention to the power surrounding the First of Clan Virnehn. There was something familiar about the flows of magic when they first met not far from this very camp, but with all the excitement surrounding the demons and the bandits, she never really listened to what the magical energies had to say. She is silent while she studies the elf in front of her, and has the strange feeling that Mihris is likewise, studying her.

They stand facing each other for a few moments more before both elves suddenly take a quick step back. It takes a few seconds for Sarenna to realize that she can’t hold her breath forever.

It would appear the firsts of Clan Lavellan and Virnehn share more than just a title. 

“I was wondering when you would both realize.” Solas’ voice makes her jump, and both elves quickly turn to look at the third who has joined them.

“What do you mean, you were _wondering_?” Mihris hisses just above a whisper.

“If one is experienced enough, it is quite obvious to feel how the spirits have changed you.” He replies, almost indifferently.

Mihris’ eyes widen in what Sarenna can only assume to be fear. “Keep your voice down!” She demands, even though there is no one near to overhear the three of them. “It is bad enough the two of you are aware of my…. condition.”

“Oh, it’s a condition now is it?” Sarenna asks. While she does not generally go around advertising the fact that she once hosted a spirit within herself, she finds it difficult to understand the other First’s reaction. 

That is unless, Mihris did not play host to a spirit, but a demon. 

Before she can form the question on her tongue, Solas speaks once more.

“At ease _Lethallan_. Your secret is safe with me, just as the Herald’s is.”

“Oh! And that’s supposed to make me feel better?! WIth all these crazed Templars running about, all I need is for one of them to get word of me.”

“Mihris, we’re not here to cause more chaos.” Sarenna uses the most soothing voice she can muster, the one she normally uses around her Clan’s Halla. “And if I’m being completely honest, I also wasn’t aware Solas knew of my own past experiences.” She shoots him a pointed look.

He in return, merely tips his head in her direction with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“You have nothing to fear from us Mihris. Just as we aided you the other day at the ruins, we will not turn on you now. You have our word. Doesn’t she Solas?” 

Thankfully Solas affirms her statement.

“I believe I’ll be taking my leave, falon.” Mihris’ words are clipped, and she wastes no time gathering the few belongings that sit on the ground behind her. 

Sarenna watches as the elf’s back quickly retreats through the small canyon and out into the Ferelden wilderness. She stays quiet a moment as Solas comes to stand beside her. 

“When were you going to let me know that you knew?” She asks softly, still not looking towards her companion.

“That you had taken a spirit of Justice within yourself? It didn’t seem particularly necessary. And how does one casually bring up such a topic in the first place?”

She turns her head sharply towards him. “Mihris does have a point. That information is dangerous in the wrong hands. I know the shemlen mages do not recognize the energies, however I failed to take into account that another of the people would.” Sarenna watches as he bristles when she calls him that.

“The fewer that know of this information the better.” This is the second of her secrets that he’s been able to pull from her, merely from studying the magical energies that are part of every mage. She studies his own energies once more and is again struck by how ancient he feels. 

“Just as you reassured Mihris, then I too shall reassure you. This information is safe with me Ren. No one will learn of it from me.”

“Learn what from you Egghead?” Sera’s voice startles Sarenna to the point where she physically jumps.

Feeling like her heart has moved into her throat, Sarenna pushes past the feeling and does her best not to glare daggers at the rogue behind her, while Solas graces the other elf with his best disapproving scowl.

“Whoa, sorry I said anything….Egghead.” Sera takes an exaggerated step back and she looks warily at the two of them, with most of her attention is on Solas. “Anywayssssssss… Just thought I’d tell you that Cassandra was lookin’ at them maps again. Thought you might be interested in that little tidbit.”

Sarenna doesn’t bother to hide the startled look on her face and rushes off towards the Seeker, who is indeed leaned over one of the scout’s table. She doesn’t think twice about leaving Solas behind. A little distance might even do her some good at the moment.

As she approaches Cassandra, Sarenna notices Blackwall standing a little ways away with Varric. He laughs at something the dwarf says, and looks rather relaxed despite the fact that less than 15 minutes ago, they were all running for their lives from a High Dragon. She smiles again while admiring the view, and wonders not for the first time if he would even want to spend a few minutes alone with her. 

“Herald!” Cassandra’s voice quickly breaks her day dream like state. “Seeing as we are no longer going to be exploring the basin with the Dragon, I think we should consider heading back towards Haven. I’m sure Leliana would appreciate a report in person.”

The thought of returning to Haven nearly puts her in a panic. 

“Or, we could make our way to Redcliff seeing as we’re already this close, and at least meet with Fiona.”

“I do not think that is a wise decision. The Inquisition’s council has not yet decided what our course of action should be with regards to the mages and Templars.” She says matter of factly, as if the statement will somehow put the idea to rest.

“This has nothing to do with that decision Cassandra. Fiona invited us to Redcliff to meet with her. It would even be helpful to gather information about the mages’ current status and present this to the others. To do otherwise would be irresponsible at this point.” 

_Smooth Sarenna, real smooth_. She tells herself. As if attempting a power play with the Seeker is the brightest idea she’s had. 

“I would disagree. If we go to Redcliff now, it could appear as if we have already played our hand. I will not allow us to put our position in jeopardy before our leadership has come to a consensus.”

“What leadership? The Inquisition doesn’t even have a formal leader!”

The Seeker slams her fist onto the rickety table before her. “Formal leader or not, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen are doing the best they can to stitch together the fabric of order where it has been torn. I will not stand to have anyone insulting their efforts. Especially from those who have pledged themselves to our cause!” Her eyes have a flame behind them that would rival any fire mage.

Sarenna isn’t about to be cowed by the Nevarran. She takes a step closer to the table instead of away from it, as much as she would like to.

“There are no insults Cassandra, only facts. How can we make an informed decision on who to ally with if we only have second hand information? We _need_ to take the temperature in Redcliff. Who knows what we’ll find there? We could discover the rebel mages are a terrible fit for the Inquisition, or we might see that they are exactly what we need.

“We’ll never know until we go see for ourselves.”

“There is a time and place for everything Herald, and now is not the time, even if the place correct. Josephine has been working diligently to gain us the contacts we need in order to gain favour with the Templars. We cannot risk that word will reach the Order, of our involvement with the mage rebellion before we are able to contact them ourselves.”

“Oh now the mere fact of speaking is counted as involvement? Why is the Inquisition so bent on gaining favour with the Templars anyways? We are quite literally on the mages front door, it would be foolish to let this opportunity pass. Not all mages are the monsters that some would have you believe!” She’s vaguely aware of the fact that she’s almost shouting.

“I KNOW!” The words come out of Cassandra's mouth so loudly that it visibly startles the Seeker herself. She looks the Herald directly in the eyes, and Sarenna is sure she is mistaken by the pain she sees in the Nevarran’s gaze. 

“I know.” Cassandra says again, with much less force this time. Sarenna watches in amazement as the warrior in front of her composes herself, so there is no sign of the grief that was present a moment before. “I do not wish to compromise our neutral position. You _must_ understand this.”

“Cassandra, the Chantry has denounced us. We are not neutral. And while Josephine, as talented as I’m sure she is, plays at politics, people are dying to demons, people are dying to bandits, and people are dying to this asinine war. I came to the conclave because my people are well aware of the consequences of the current events in the world. I agreed to stay and fight with the Inquisition because we need to stop this insanity before more lives are lost.

“I am going to Redcliff, and you cannot stop me.” She finishes softly.

Sarenna stands up straight from where she is leaning over the table, and notices that everyone in camp is focused on the two women. She takes a deep a breath, and leaves the Seeker behind. Silently, she heads towards the head scout and asks for a copy of a map that will lead her to town. 

That, it would appear, was the signal needed to dethaw everyone from their frozen like state, for all at once they start speaking and moving again as if they had never stopped in the first place to watch the spectacle in the center of camp. The scout informs her that he needs to draw a copy of the map for her and if she can wait he can have it completed in an hour. She nods her consent and slowly turns around to look for a quiet corner she can sit in.

But since this is an Inquisition camp there are no quiet corners, so she makes her way to the least uncomfortable looking rock she can find instead. Once seated she closes her eyes but is interrupted in no less than five seconds.

“Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Seeker over there.” She keeps her eyes closed as she listens to Varric. She can tell by the shuffle of his clothes that he’s taking a seat beside her. “And while we’ve been on the road for what feels like weeks, I think I might follow you to Redcliff instead of hoofing it back to Haven, as long as you don’t mind.”

She finally opens her eyes and turns her head to face the dwarf. “Varric. I never mind your company. You’re more than welcome to join me in Redcliff. And you absolutely do not need my permission to follow.” 

“Yes well, figured I would be polite all the same.” He shoots a quick glance towards Cassandra who glaring a hole at the table in front of her.

“Point taken.”

“I’d also like to tag along if you’ll have me, my lady.” Blackwall’s voice startles her and she wonders how the man moves so silently.

“Oh! Um.. Of course. The more the merrier. Isn’t that right Varric?” She quickly turns back to the dwarf, who immediately raises an eyebrow at her.

She’s positive that the morning sun has suddenly intensified as she feels herself breaking into a sweat when she looks back towards the Warden. She smiles at him then instantly remembers to not smile too much at him and notices the concerned look on him face after a moment.

“Are you alright Lady Herald?”

“Yes! Fine. I’m fine.” She stammers out, her cheeks turning red. Obviously her varying degrees of smiles are not as smooth as she would have hoped.

She’s saved from complete mortification by the arrival of Sera.

“Oi! Obviously I’m comin’ with ye to the Red place! The Seeker’s daft if she thinks now’s a good time to turn around when there’s still little people needin’ help.”

“I can hear you!” Cassandra says loudly from the center of camp, her back still turned to the group.

“Well in that case you should also know that-”

“SERA!” All three of them shout at her. 

“Wot?”

“Perhaps you can think of a better time to tell Cassandra what’s on your mind?” Sarenna says as delicately as she can.

“What’s wrong with now? She’s going to growl at me all the same no matter when I tell her.”

Sarenna, Varric, and Blackwall all hang their heads at the same time instead of answering her.

“Oh fine!” Sera mutters as she picks a spot to sit and wait with the rest of them.

The four of them sit as patiently as they can for a few moments, watching Cassandra fume in the center of camp, while the scouts scurry around her. A raven drifts down into the canyon and lands next to a scout, immediately holding out it’s talon showing the message attached. However before Sarenna can move to find out what news they’ve received, she’s interrupted.

“I assume you have room for one more on your mission to Redcliff.” Solas’ voice is calm as usual.

“I won’t stop you from joining us, if that’s what you mean.” While she most certainly wishes for him to join them, she’s still annoyed at Solas from their earlier conversation.

“Ah.” 

He says nothing further, but simply moves to stand beside the group, leaning against his staff instead of taking a seat. 

Sarenna closes her eyes again, in hopes that she can calm herself before the scout is finished with the map. She does not wish to start on the road to Redcliffe still furious with Cassandra, annoyed at Solas, and completely flustered by Blackwall. Although she suspects she won’t really be able to do anything about that last one. She peaks open an eye and looks over to the man in question. He’s turned towards Sera as they talk animatedly to each other. The smile she keeps trying to repress when he’s around slowly spreads across her face, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that she and the Seeker had a screaming match in the center of camp, or that Solas is being an ass.

“You know you’re not being as subtle as you think, Freckles.”

“I’m done with subtle, Varric.” She says while keeping her gaze on the warden.

“Fine by me. Just thought I’d point it out in case you were trying.” The dwarf lets out a low chuckle, “Besides, it would seem our warden friend isn’t very subtle either.”

Sarenna’s head whips around at those words. “What do you mean?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” He shakes his head in mock disgust, “You should stop avoiding him at camp and try a conversation with him that involves more than ‘My lady’ and your face turning that brilliant shade of red. Unless of course you’re not done with being subtle.” Varric cocks his head to the side, emphasizing his point.

“Varric.”

“Freckles.”

“We should focus on our trip to Redcliffe.”

“Whatever you say Freckles. Whatever you say. Although, while we’re on the topic of subtlety, why is it that you’re so afraid to return to Haven? Every excursion we’ve been on so far, you’ve found one way or another to delay our trips back.”

A handsome face framed by golden hair swims in front of her vision. A face full of rage and fear and murder in his eyes. Sarenna shivers violently, once, willing the thoughts to leave her head.

“I don’t like being near the Breach.” She quickly lies. “It’s hard to think of anything else when I’m near it.”

“Can’t blame you for that. I confess, I don’t feel easy when I can see that green glow either.”

She smiles sadly at him, relieved that he bought her half truth. She _doesn't_ like being near the breach, but she’ll stand under it for the rest of time as long as that means she never has to deal with the Commander infiltrating her dreams at night.

The Seeker decides at that moment to push herself away from the command table and marches over to the group. She stops directly in front of Sarenna, her posture rigid. 

The Herald barely lifts her head to acknowledge the woman, but makes sure to lift her eyes enough that she can see the scarcely contained fury on the Seeker’s face.

“I will accompany your group to Redcliffe.”

“Cassandra, you made it quite clear that someone was needed _in person_ , to explain the situation in the Hinterlands to those at Haven.”

“And we will. After we have seen whatever there is to see in Redcliffe.”

“Dare I ask what caused you to change your mind?”

“You are correct. There are people in need of help. The report for Haven can wait, those impacted by the war and the Breach cannot. We will see what can be done.”

Sarenna doesn’t risk saying something she’ll regret and nods her head in ascent.

“I know the way to Redcliffe. We leave immediately.” And with those words, Cassandra returns to the command table, grabs her pack off the ground, and heads towards the camp exit.

The rest of them scramble off the rocks and follow the Seeker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A new Chapter! I know I'm a terrible person for making anyone who still reads this wait this long.  
> I really can't make any promises. Because again, terrible person. But at least you all have something to read :)  
> Let me know how you like it. ~ Anith


	10. By Magic, By Might

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so hands down the longest chapter I have ever written. Hope you guys enjoy.

* * *

####  Sarenna 

* * *

The rift closes with a loud bang, and Sarenna winces as she always does as whatever demon remains drop before her. She takes a moment to try and steady her breathing as she sticks her staff in the ground beside her to lean against it. She’s winded not just from the fighting, but the effort it takes to control the rifts. Of course there would be more rifts before they got to Redcliffe, it’s simply wishful thinking for her to assume otherwise.

“That was fascinating!” Solas’ voice beside her piques her curiosity. Her annoyance at him quickly dissipated as they made the two day trek to town, and she looks at him with open curiosity.

“How are more strange green _bubbles_ fascinating?” Cassandra interjects before Sarenna can say anything.

“Did you not look closely at them Seeker?”

“No. I was preoccupied with killing the demons that were spawning from thin air.”

“Well I’d like to think I’m as daft as the next one yeh? But Egghead there’s onto something. There were weird things going on around those spots.” Sarenna is surprised when Sera speaks up.

“Precisely.” Solas says the word with thinly veiled irritation. “It would appear those bubbles, as you put them Lady Cassandra, were having an affect on time itself.”

“An effect on time?”

“Yes! Did you not see the demon’s movement slow or speed up considerably whenever they passed through them?”

“As I said, I was busy fighting them rather than studying them……”

“Is that even possible?” Sarenna interjects.

“I wouldn’t have thought so if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“Well whatever it is, it’s some weird shit I’d like to get past. No offence to you two,” Varric waves towards Sarenna and Solas, “but in my experience, unexplained magic like that never bodes well.”

As Varric slings Bianca across his back, Blackwall sheaths his sword and comes to stand beside the dwarf. “I did notice as one those blighters was charging towards me. Made it easy to aim at its neck when it hit the shimmer in the air.”

“Yeh! Some of the bubbles made it like shooting fish in a barrel with arrows. But others made it seem like they were even faster than demons. Now that’s really scary. What else could be faster than a friggin’ demon?”

“Does no one share my concern that we should move away from here?”

Just as Varric finishes his question, they jump, startled and turn instantly at the sound of the large portcullis behind them opening. The group takes a last wary look around and starts towards the entrance that will lead them to Redcliffe.

“There are many mages in Redcliffe. Maybe Fiona will know what’s going on.” Sarenna says quietly.

The gate finishes opening and before they’re even past the width of the wall, the Inquisition scout who hurried after them as they hastily left camp two days ago, approaches them. 

“I spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

Sarenna glances towards Cassandra, Varric and Solas with a puzzled look. All of them were present when Fiona herself stopped them in Val Royeaux with the invitation to visit the mages in Redcliffe.

“No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?” She turns back to the scout, knowing what the answer will be by the expression on his face.

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. I’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

“Thank you.” She smiles at the scout, and then shoots Cassandra a worried glance. However the Seeker doesn’t notice as she’s currently fixated on the young elven mage jogging towards them.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies!” The young man comes to a stop in front of them and takes a second to catch his breath. “Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn't yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

Sarenna does her best to keep her face a mask. Of all the things she thought to expect upon their arrival at Redcliffe, none of the events of the last fifteen minutes had crossed her mind. Especially not the interesting tidbit their elven friend just revealed to them.

The young man, pauses a moment, as if waiting for an answer. Sarenna nods at him, and he immediately takes off down the path towards the town. She doesn’t move but instead allows the mage to move on ahead of them. Sarenna’s companions all come to stand beside her and likewise look down the road before them.

“Is it just me or is there something weird going here?” Varric states the obvious.

“Oh you mean besides the sky exploding demons everywhere?” Sera looks as if she’s about to say something else when Cassandra interrupts her.

“We need to speak with Grand Enchanter Fiona.” Her voice is as grim as her eyes as they stare ahead.

“That’s the second time since the Breach that I’ve heard talk of Tevinter.” Sarenna says in a low voice, wary of those lazily passing them by. “I highly doubt that’s a coincidence. And if I’m not mistaken, he called Fiona _Former_ Grand Enchanter. Perhaps we might take our time before we head to the tavern for our _negotiations_. See what we can learn.”

“Not a bad suggestion, my lady.”

“Shall we?” Solas motions forward with his staff in hand, and both Sarenna and Cassandra start forward at once, ignoring the fact that neither of them is leading the way.

The small gully that leads to town opens quickly to reveal the natural sight that gave the place it’s name. Sarenna takes it in for a moment, appreciating the way the sun sparkles across the surface of the lake, and the deep rust colour of the cliffs. But the feeling of malaise that has slowly been building in the pit of her stomach since she closed the last rift doesn’t allow her to dally for very long.

After another turn in the road, the full town is bared before them and Sarenna is shocked to see how many people are crowding the streets of Redcliffe. How many of them are mages she wonders. 

_I will help them anyway I can_. She thinks. _The Inquisition must be able to provide a better option than this._

“Perhaps we should split up?” She muses out loud.

“Great idea! Freckles why don’t you, me, and the Hero over here head down to the docks. And Chuckles over there can baby sit Buttercup and Seeker.”

“Excuse me?! You _dare_ give me orders?”

“They’re not orders Seeker, merely suggestions.” Varric says while nudging both Sarenna and Blackwall towards the staircase that leads to the docks. 

“Besides, what does it matter? We’re all helping the Inquisition right? We’ll meet you back at the Tavern in a little while.”

“No. We stay together.” And Cassandra settles the matter with a look while walking towards them.

“Well so much for my suggestion.” Varric grumbles to himself. 

Sarenna stares at Varric, wondering what that was all about. The move seems out of sorts for the dwarf, and she realizes he’s up to something. She takes a quick look at Blackwall and it hits her immediately. The Herald of Andraste gives the dwarf a stern look, hoping he gets the point that she’s not impressed without her having to tell him in front of everyone.

With an annoyed huff, she turns her attention away from her companions and looks out towards the docks. They’re not as busy as she would have expected. The boats that are moored to the piers seem to be abandoned, and looking out at the water again, she notices that there’s no one out fishing on the lake. With this many refugees in one place, fishing is the last thing the locals should abandon.

Her brows furrow as she looks back towards the throngs of people milling about the public places. She assumed the people of Redcliffe simply welcomed the mage rebellion to their town with open arms. However as she really studies the crowd, all she sees are robes. Mage robes.

Where are the _people_ of Redcliffe?

The majority of the faces she spies are not the faces she expects of the mage rebellion. The haunted looks behind their eyes speak of freedom briefly tasted before chains and shackles were imposed once more. What happened in the weeks since Fiona came to them in Orlais?

“What is the matter Ren?”

She turns towards Solas, not sure how to get her thoughts to slow down enough so she can articulate everything going through her mind. 

“I think we’ve got a bigger problem than we realize.” She says quietly, so no one else will hear.

Solas looks back towards where she was focused earlier and narrows his eyes. Sera and Blackwall, who are both behind the two elves, stop and turn to look as well, although their expressions when they face the elves again suggests they’re not sure what they’re looking for. 

“Wot exactly are we starin’ at?”

“Sera. I need you to go find us some little people. Discreetly, if you will.” Sarenna says cautiously, not wanting to cause more alarm than necessary. “Wait for us at the tavern.”

Sera’s expression turns surprisingly understanding, and the archer saunters off, as if she’s decided to go look for a place to get a good stiff drink.

At this point, Cassandra realizes she’s left the majority of the group behind and stands her ground giving her signature glare to the rest of the group, while she waits for them to reach her. Sarenna is thankful the Seeker doesn’t start shouting for an explanation. It’s probably wise for them not to bring more attention to themselves.

However as they catch up to the Nevarran, attention appears to find them.

A young man standing near the water takes one look at Sarenna and turns such a ghostly shade of white, that she’s sure he’s about to lose consciousness. The mage standing with him stops mid sentence to look for the source of his companion’s distress, only to similarly display his own fear.

“There’s a Seeker of Truth here. I must warn the others!” The mage looks once to his still ashen companion and then makes a run for it. 

Cassandra spins around upon hearing her former title, and witnesses the mage running off, but more importantly, recognizes the young man on the dock.

“Connor Guerrin?” The surprise is clear in the Seeker’s voice, and she doesn’t hesitate to advance on the clearly shaken youth, ignoring the fleeing mage.

Sarenna quickly looks at the others to see they’re just as confused by the quick turn of events. Without further delay, she makes her way over to Cassandra and the young man. Connor, the Seeker called him.

With each step Sarenna takes, Connor appears more and more frightened. He’s visibly shaking by the time she, and the rest of her companions, reach him. Cassandra is asking him something but he doesn’t appear to even hear her, his attention being solely focused on the Herald. Sarenna for the life of her can’t think of any reason why he’s reacting this way, and so she stands before him as non threateningly as she can.

“Y-you……….They said you died. Killing the archdemon. Oh maker. How is this even possible?” Everyone stares bewildered at Connor for moment. “I never expected to meet you again. I always wanted to…..to… Thank you. You know…..for... sparing my life.” His words are just as shaken as he is.

A spark of understanding ignites in Cassandra’s eyes.

“Connor. This is not the Hero of Ferelden. This is the Herald of Andraste, the sole survivor of the Conclave.”

Connor turns towards the Seeker, recognizing for the first time that she’s even present. “Seeker Pentaghast? What are you doing here?”

It becomes obvious to nearly everyone that the Nevarran’s patience is wearing thin as she fails not to growl out a response. “We are members of the Inquisition, and we’ve come to speak with Fiona at her invitation.”

“Connor is it?” Sarenna ignores Cassandra for the moment and focuses on him. He looks towards her again, eyes wide, but nods quickly. ”I’m Sarenna. Why did you think I’m the Hero of Ferelden?”

That news in itself is enough to shake her badly. But there is much more going on in Redcliffe than she can put her finger on at the moment, and the fact that someone has mistaken her for a hero of legend is pushed to the back of her mind. 

“Oh, well, um… I guess if you ever met the Hero of Ferelden, you’d understand.” He replies, not seeming very sure of himself.

“Oh this is good. I’ll have to remember this for my notes later on.” Varric seems excited. Sarenna shoots him a quick glare before turning back towards the still shaken man.

“Connor is the son of Eamon Guerrin, council to King Alistair.” Cassandra cuts in, before anyone else can ask more questions. “His uncle, Arl Teagan Guerrin rules this Arling.”

“Not anymore.” He replies fearfully.

“What do you mean?” Sarenna asks gently, still not wanting to frighten him further. 

“Since the Magister came, everything’s been upside down. These Tevinters...they drove away anyone who isn’t a mage, including Uncle Teagan. I don’t know why King Alistair and Queen Anora thought Redcliffe was a good place to send the mages. King Alistair grew up here, he knows this place! Did he just think they would forget what happened here, what I did here? And now Alexius! This isn’t right.”

“Whoa! Slow down there.” Sarenna struggles to process everything that just came speeding out of Connor’s mouth. 

It’s obvious to her that there’s a story she doesn’t know about. But that story will need to wait. There are much bigger issues in Redcliffe than something that involved Connor and the Hero of Ferelden.

“I don’t know anything about King Alistair, but tell me about this Alexius. Why is Fiona no longer the Grand Enchanter?”

“All I know is that once he came into power, he threw my uncle into the street, and signed us into servitude! This is my home. Redcliffe, Ferelden. No matter what evils I’ve done, I would have never invited Tevinter here.” His voice carries the guilt of whatever it is that happened involving the Hero of Ferelden. 

She thinks that she needs to learn the history of this place sooner rather than later.

“Connor, _you_ didn’t invite them. Whatever happened in the past, this is not your fault.” She gently touches his shoulder to reassure him, but he flinches at the contact. “Perhaps we should get going.” She says while looking at Cassandra.

“Please! Talk some sense into the Grand Enchanter. Selling out to the Imperium won’t win us any friends. We have to find a way to make peace.”

She nods at Connor and turns away from him, hoping the rest of them follow her as she goes to wait by a stack of crates near the water’s edge. Sarenna catches herself reaching for her hair, and at once remembers hair doesn’t grow that fast, and it’s still only just starting to reach the bottom of her chin. In the months since she cut it, she still hasn’t found a new outlet for her fidgeting.

“So, just how much do you know of what happened during the blight Freckles?” Varric asks.

She looks from him to Cassandra, to Solas, and finally to Blackwall.

“Only the basics, and what my clan experienced.” This is not a conversation she wants to have at this very moment. She reaches her left hand behind her back digging her thumb into spine, hoping to distract herself.

“What your clan experienced?” Cassandra says, clearly confused. “Where you in Ferelden during the blight?”

Sarenna takes a very deep breath before answering. “We were passing through, along the southern border near the Kocari Wilds. We learned later that’s where the Darkspawn came from. I don’t think anyone knew it was a true blight yet, and even if they did, I doubt they would have shared it with a Dalish clan.” She says nothing further.

“I was in Ferelden during the blight, silently killing darkspawn. Never did get to fight with the Hero though, damn shame that was.” Blackwall announces. If there was anything the warden could have said to raise him further in Sarenna’s eyes, that was it.

Could he have been one of the wardens that came to their rescue? 

No, she would have recognized him. Wouldn’t she? Would he have recognized her? Surely if he’d been part of that band, he would remember saving her clan. She feels a small pang of disappointment as she realizes that they did not meet ten years ago. 

But he _was_ there killing darkspawn. She’s relieved he survived to join them here and now.

“Is that so?” She finally asks in reply to his statement, a smile on her lips.

“As shocked as I am to hear that a grey warden was in Ferelden during the blight,” Varric breaks in before Blackwall can speak again, “I don’t think that helps with our Herald’s little history lesson here.”

“Is this really the time for that Varric? We’ve just learned a Tevinter Magister has taken what’s left of the mage rebellion as slaves.” She asks.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but Varric is correct.” There’s no denying the distaste in Cassandra’s voice as she supports their resident storyteller. “The events of the Blight do not only include the Blight.”

“Why don’t you leave the spinning of tales to me Seeker?”

“Why? So you can spin a _fantastic_ tale for her in much the same way that you recounted to me the story of the Champion? We have neither the time nor does the Herald need to figure out which parts are truth and which are fiction.”

“Would both of you stop it?” Sarenna hisses at them. Their arguments are getting old, especially as she gets the sinking feeling they’re not as _safe_ as they assume themselves to be. Inquisition or not, they need to be vigilant, and bickering amongst themselves certainly doesn’t lead to that.

“The beginning of the Blight gave way to the start of civil war within Ferelden.” Solas calmly explains while Varric and Cassandra size each other up. “The Ferelden King, Cailan, was killed during the battle of Ostagar against the darkspawn. After his death it was rumored that Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, purposely held back his troops, directly causing the death of his king. The Ferelden Banns rallied while Mac Tir took control of the realm, denying the blight altogether and blaming the Grey Wardens for the death of the king.”

Varric, Cassandra and Blackwall all stare at Solas in amazement.

“And just where did a wandering apostate elf learn all of that?” Blackwall sounds skeptical.

“The Fade.” Solas scowls in his direction before turning back to Sarenna. “While all these events took place, a young Connor Guerrin was coming into his magic and became possessed. His possession led to the sickening of his father, Eamon, who was Arl at the time. When the Hero of Ferelden came to seek the Arl’s help, they first had to break the siege of undead emanating from the castle, and Connor himself. He was eventually cured of his possession thanks to the efforts of the Hero of Ferelden, but as we can see, Connor clearly has not forgiven himself for his actions.”

“Well that explains Connor. But not why a magister has laid claim to the mages in Redcliffe.” Nor does it explain exactly why he first mistook her for the long since deceased Hero. 

“Where is Sera?” Cassandra twists her head this way and that as she notices for the first time the rogue is no longer with them.

“I sent her to look for some answers. She’ll meet us at the tavern when she’s ready.” 

“You sent her to- The elf has the mental capabilities of a child and you sent her out on her own?”

“Now now Seeker, I don’t think Buttercup would have gotten this far in life if she couldn’t take care of herself.”

“We have bigger problems than Sera’s whereabouts. You all heard Connor, this Magister drove all the townspeople from Redcliffe. No wonder there are so many refugees at the Crossroads.”

“You are correct. I did not foresee this circumstance.” Cassandra sighs heavily and looks as if she wants to say something else, but can’t bring herself to do it.

“Perhaps we should go have those words with Fiona. See if we can make some sense of this before this Alexius shows up.” Blackwall suggests.

Everyone, including Solas, appears to agree with him, and they make their way towards the closest stairway leading to the upper streets, which happens to be a different path than the one that brought them to the docks. As they approach, they pass a rather beat down shack. The moment Sarenna is within five feet of the structure, frantic whispers fill her mind.

She freezes and looks towards the door, knowing all too well at this point what those whispers mean.

Before anyone can ask what she’s doing, she makes her way to the cabin and tries the handle. 

It doesn’t budge.

“Didn’t take you to be one for breaking and entering Freckles. Here, let me help.” The dwarf appears beside her, as if by magic, not bothering to ask what made her try her luck with the door.

“What are you two doing now? We should be going to meet with Fiona!” Cassandra’s fury is barely contained.

“There’s one of those crystal skulls in here. I’m sure of it.” Sarenna replies while watching Varric pull a thin metal tool off his belt, and gingerly insert it into the keyhole.

“Herald, as interesting as the tablets we’ve been collecting are, can this not wait until after we’ve spoken with the Grand Enchanter?”

“Former Grand Enchanter.” Blackwall reminds her.

“Yes…..Former Grand Enchanter.”

“Cassandra, all the skulls we’ve come across so far have been mounted out in the open. Why is this one locked up in a shack? In a town that’s been taken over by a Tevinter Magister?”

The women look at each other, as if sizing each other up.

The soft metallic sound of a tumbler falling into place is followed by a content sigh.

“And Seeker, here you thought I had no skills at all.” Varric steps back from the door motioning for them to enter.

Sarenna takes one last look at Cassandra and a deep breath before taking two steps towards the building, and carefully pushing against the door. She looks behind her before taking a peek inside, and notices Solas and Blackwall taking up places as if they’re standing watch. She smiles at the thought, and then steps across the threshold.

The whispers that assault her as she moves past the door frame are enough to stop her in her tracks. She doesn’t understand how the walls of the shack are able to contain the magic within, but she doesn’t have a chance to think on it as her eyes grow to the size of saucers at the sight before her. 

There isn’t _a_ skull.

There are shelves of them. Cabinets full. The entire shack is filled with dozens, if not hundreds of skulls.

“Oh!” She’s not sure there’s enough air left in her for the sound to be audible, but someone hears it.

“What’s happening in there Freckles? I hope you haven’t- Oh…...Shit.”

Varric stands beside her, also staring at the display before them.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume this is really bad.”

“I’m going to agree with you.” Sarenna replies, not able to move her gaze.

“What are you two- Maker! What is this?” 

Cassandra’s shouted question breaks through the whispers in Sarenna’s mind and she suddenly realizes they should not be here. The herald moves past the Nevarran back towards the door and grabs both Solas and Blackwall by their shirt sleeves, pulling them into the cabin and closing the door quickly. 

The whispers are frantic in her head. There’s so many of them trying to speak to her in a language she simply does not understand. Her breath comes faster and she grabs onto a nearby table top for support.

“Are you alright my lady?” Blackwall’s voice rumbles directly behind her, clearly concerned. 

“I’m not sure, honestly.” She looks up, across the room. “At least we know where they’re coming from now.”

“I have never seen the likes of this before.” Solas says in wonder, but she can detect a hint of disgust in his voice.

Cassandra walks up to one of the shelves and looks closely at the skull that sits on it while everyone else fans around the room. Sarenna makes her way towards the rear of the room where more skulls and the stones used to mount them lay around, almost haphazardly. 

The whispers seem to have an air of urgency here. The skulls they’ve come across in the Hinterlands are much more - subdued than what she’s experiencing here. She’s not sure if it’s because there’s so many of them in one place or if there’s another reason. A morbid thought comes to mind.

_I wonder who they belonged to?_

She walks up to a pile of them that are already mounted, awaiting to be placed in the wilderness she assumes. She’s seen them up close already, but if feels different here in the cabin. Well, she’s looked at one up close, the one they found near one of their camps, near Lake Luthias. Solas suggested they study it one evening. She was almost sick to her stomach from the journey _that_ particular skull took her on. She isn’t very keen to try again, but somehow thinks these tablets the skulls reveal are more important than any of them realize.

Without meaning to, she reaches out her hand towards the one nearest her. She stops just before touching it, realizing what she’s done just in the knick of time.

As if on cue, Blackwall’s voice breaks the eerie silence of the cabin. “My lady Herald, Seeker Cassandra. You’ll want to take a look at this.” There’s a something in his voice that begs no question. 

Sarenna starts and backs away from the mounted skull in front of her, and joins the others in the front of the cabin. Blackwall is holding out a note before him while Cassandra studies it. As Sarenna starts to read the hastily written note, Solas and Varric also make their way over and examine the paper.

“They’re killing Tranquil?” While her clan never came across any Tranquil on their journeys, she certainly knows what a Tranquil is.

“Who are these Venatori? I’ve never heard of such a group before?” Cassandra sounds even more outraged than usual.

“The note speaks of a master. Your suspicions about the Tevinters are correct Ren. There is much more happening here than meets the eye.”

“Woah. Hold up here. First kirkwall happens, then the conclave explodes, and you only _think_ there’s more going on behind the scenes? If being friends with Hawke and being an author has taught me anything, it’s that there’s _definitely_ something bigger going on.” Varric takes the note from Blackwall’s hand. “Seeker things just got a lot more interesting.”

Cassandra grabs the note from Varric’s hands, “Could these Venatori be behind the events of the Conclave? We must speak to Fiona at once!” 

“Careful Seeker….. We can’t tip our hands that we know anything. In fact, we _don’t_ know anything. Anyone we speak with can’t know that we found this little creepy room. Or that little creepy note.”

“Varric, can you make a copy of it?”

“I’ll get right on that Freckles.” Varric snaps the parchment back from Cassandra hands, and shoots a wink Sarenna’s way before turning towards the nearest surface he can write on.

Sarenna looks towards Solas, who has been mostly silent since they entered the hut. His features are pinched as he continues to gaze at the skulls around them, his left thumb is massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What is it Solas?” She asks.

He seems startled by her question and drops his hand to his side. “The suffering they must have endured. I cannot think what would drive someone to do this.”

“The same thing that drives mages towards blood magic.” Cassandra states “Desperation.”

Sarenna looks once more at the elf, and thinks for a moment that he looks almost...guilty. But the feeling is gone in an instant and she can’t quite explain what made her think of it. 

“Varric, are you finished yet? We need to leave, now.”

“Give me a minute Seeker. I can’t instantly transfer words from one page to another.” He replies as he furiously scribbles onto one of the blank sheets that is sitting on the desk.

All of them are silent as he finishes his task. The tension, and the whispers, rise in the little hut. Finally they are able to slip out from the cabin, copied note in hand. Sarenna breathes a sigh of relief as the voices of the dead leave her mind. With her next inhale, she breathes in the smell of sweat and leather and forest, and she knows who’s beside without looking at him. Part of her is thrilled, but mostly she is still trying to collect herself after finding out what was in that hut. 

“My lady. I know I’ve already asked, but are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine Blackwall. I just need to walk, and clear my head. And avoid anymore more crystal skulls in the near future.”

He chuckles low at that.

“Be as that may, if you need more time before we head to the tavern, say something. You’re obviously rattled.”

Is it that obvious? She stares straight ahead trying not to make a face. Or die of embarrassment. She’s only vaguely aware that he leans towards her.

“Don’t worry.” He says quietly, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Mmmmm yes. What would happen if the people knew the Herald of Andraste was worried?” She replies sarcastically, smiling at him. 

He smiles back and for a moment everything besides the two of them ceases to exist. Her breath catches in her throat and she wonders what his lips would taste like.

“Ren.” Solas’ voice on her other side is cold. “We should make our way to the tavern, don’t you think?”

She thanks Mythal that she didn’t jump before turning to face the scowling elf on her left. “Yes, that’s probably for the best.”

Sarenna stares straight ahead with no expression. She still can’t figure out why Solas dislikes the warden so much. But that is a mystery she’ll need to solve another day. Today they’ve discovered too many things that seem important, but she can’t figure out how they all fit together yet.

It doesn’t take them long to find the tavern. There’s no sign of Sera yet. Cassandra looks uncharacteristically nervous by the rogue’s absence, but after a few minutes decides they should enter. They’ll find the elf afterwards. 

Upon entry, Sarenna is surprised to find the place as busy as it is. The room doesn’t go silent as they move past the entrance, but it’s clear everyone is aware of their presence. 

“There’s Fiona.” Cassandra points towards the rear of the tavern. Sarenna nods at the Seeker and starts to maneuver past the mages milling about, towards the former Grand Enchanter.

As they approach, those standing idly by the elven mage disperse leaving a space for the newcomers. Sarenna stops several feet from the petite elf, unsure of those around them.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition!” Fiona greets them, her voice is wary. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Sarenna looks at Cassandra once more before answering.

“You.” She says slowly. “You invited us when we met in Val Royeaux.”

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

The Herald takes a closer look around the room. Every pair of eyes is fixated on them. Those who were pretending to ignore them on their arrival have dropped the pretense and now stare openly at the Inquisition agents, and particularly the sole survivor of the Conclave.

“No I’m quite certain it was you. You made a point of stopping us right after the Templars left Val Royeaux and asked me to come here.”

“The Templars left Val Royeaux? Where did they go?” Fiona’s brows knit together momentarily, and a perplexed look briefly changes the smooth features of her face. “That sounds...Why does that sound so strange?

“Whoever...or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already… pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Knowing that the mages have aligned themselves with Tevinter is one thing, but hearing it straight from Fiona sends a sense of urgency through Sarenna. As if the strange rift outside the gate and the cabin they just found weren’t enough to convince the elf that something is very wrong.

“I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.” Solas is the last person Sarenna expects to break the heavy silence of the room.

“An Alliance with Tevinter? Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?” Cassandra appears to be beside herself, despite also already knowing the information. Sarenna thinks perhaps the Seeker was also hoping that the information they were told was false.

“Andraste’s Ass… I’m trying to think of a single worse thing thing you could have done. And I’ve got nothing.”

“Varric!” She doesn’t mean to shout, but she certainly wasn’t expecting those words from their dwarf.

“He’s not wrong.” Blackwall says quietly from behind her.

She wants to turn and look at the warden behind her, but the utter look of devastation on Fiona’s face stops her in her tracks.

“As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.” Fiona takes in a shaky breath, as if saying the words has made her reality even more real, and frightening. 

“Why Fiona?” Sarenna asks.

“All hope died with Justinia. This… Bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we had no choice. We are losing this war, I needed to save as many as I could.” Fiona seems as if she’s trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“There’s always a choice.” The Herald of Andraste can’t stop the pity from seeping into her voice.

Fiona looks at the ground as if she has nothing further to say, as if she’s already said too much.

The sound of the tavern door opening and distinct footsteps coming approaching draws their attention, putting an end to that particular conversation. Everyone turns to see the newcomers. The man in front wears an intricately designed, hooded garment. However there’s no hiding the fact that no matter how pleasing to the eye the leather may seem, it’s armor through and through. He’s come expecting a fight.

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” He struts towards them as if he owns the place. 

_Well I suppose he does technically own them now,_ she thinks, knowing exactly who he is on sight.

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” Fiona takes a step back as her voice fades to nothing, barely finishing the Magister’s name.

Alexius moves to stand before them, his eyes searching each of them. Sarenna represses the shiver that tries to pass through her body as he studies her. His gaze rests on her left hand. Even encased in a leather glove, the green glow of the mark does it’s best to peak through.

“The Southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor,” he says it matter of factly, “The one from the fade? Interesting.” He draws out the last word and Sarenna cannot stop the shiver this time. 

There’s something in his sunken eyes, something else besides the fact that he’s the magister who now holds the mage rebellion, that puts Sarenna on edge.

“You’re a long way from home Alexius.” She notices the young man who casually makes his way to Alexius’ side. He’s not threatening, but he’s making sure he’s noticed.

“I could say the same about you. They say your clan roams the Free Marches, yes? It seems we are both strangers here.” 

Her hackles rise at the mention of her clan. They are in far more danger than any of them assumed. Why would he bring up that type of information if he didn’t intend to use it to his advantage? And more importantly, how did he come upon that information?

“It would seem we have that in common,” she doesn’t want to provoke him, but she also no longer wants to be having this conversation. “I understand, from what Fiona has told us, that the mage rebellion is now indentured to you. How does that work exactly?”

“Ahh, yes. The southern mages are not officially recognized by the Imperium, they have no status.” He says, “They must work for a period of ten years in service to Tevinter before they are acknowledged as citizens.”

Sarenna looks sharply over Alexius’ shoulder to Fiona. “You decided that the entirety of the mage rebellion were going to become citizens of the Imperium?” She asks incredulously.

“As I said, we had no choice. The Templars sought to overtake us after the conclave. But Alexius arrived just in time with an alternative to annihilation. Although I must say, it was certainly, very timely.” Fiona responds, as if she’s still not happy, or sure about it.

Sarenna takes what little relief there is to be had, that the _Former_ Grand Enchanter is having second thoughts. The stories of Tevinter were most certainly known by her clan, and the Herald is very aware of the dangers the Imperium presents to those not of that country. Even those who are born there face threats if they aren’t recognized as a citizen, because they are slaves. 

Slaves like all of those who once called themselves the mage rebellion. Slaves like the hundreds of mages in Redcliffe, who once tried to free themselves from the chains of the towers and the templars and the chantry. Now they simply have another owner holding the leash around their necks.

She can hear the agitation of her companions, not by anything they say, as none of them have said anything since Alexius showed up, but by the sound of their movements. Cassandra’s teeth are grinding and Sarenna thinks she can even hear the Seeker growling slightly. Varric toys with one of Bianca’s buckles, over and over again. Solas is shuffling his staff from hand to hand, and Blackwall’s breathing is so loud behind her she wonders how he isn’t distracting every other person in the room. He’s very much distracting her.

This is not at all what she thought they would be coming to when she decided to visit Redcliffe. She wanted to visit with Fiona under calmer circumstances. She wanted to see and gather information that would help convince the rest of the Inquisition that they should offer the Mage rebellion an alliance to help with the Breach. She wanted to help save the lives of those who were out of their element, being vilified by the chantry simply for being born with a gift. 

But now she sees that her plans to watch and learn have gone out the window. Whatever the current circumstances are with the Templars, and she shudders to think on it, the mages need the Inquisition, and they them _now_.

“Despite this revelation, I _did_ come here to secure the help of the mages with the Breach.” Cassandra makes a strangled sound behind her, but thankfully says nothing.

“Right to business! I understand, of course.” Alexius motions towards a nearby table, and she has to catch herself from scowling at his turned back.

Sarenna settles herself in the seat across from the magister while her companions watch in silence. She glances once at Fiona, who seems even more forlorn, if that’s at all possible. She hopes she doesn’t make their situation worse. 

“Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?” And then as if he suddenly realizes that he’s not alone, he adds, “Pardon my manners. My son, Felix.” The man she noticed earlier takes a step towards the table and bows with all pomp and ceremony she expects is usual in the upper classes of Tevinter society. Sarenna nods in his direction and takes note of the look in his eyes. She’s not alarmed by what she sees, but she knows instantly that something is not right with him.

Felix takes his leave as Alexius speaks once more. “I am not surprised you’re here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt.” There’s something akin to respect in his voice, but it is faint, and shrouded by something else. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

She leans forward and puts on the mask she usually reserves for those merchants willing to trade with her clan. “I’ll take every mage you can give me.” And when she says it she means that she’ll _take_ them, one way or another.

“There will have to be-” The magister stops suddenly and turns to the side, as if something far more important has caught his attention than negotiating the use of his newly acquired indentured servants. When Sarenna glances over, she sees that indeed, something far more important has.

Felix shuffles towards them, and if there was any doubt before that something was amiss with the magister’s son, there’s absolutely no mistaking it now. Both the Herald and Alexius are on their feet in an instant, chairs scraping loudly behind them in their haste. Before either of them can make any further moves, Felix’s eyes become completely unfocused and he promptly lurches forward. 

Sarenna happens to be the closest and rushes to catch the man who is easily a foot taller than her. Silly really to think she can hold him up herself. She sees Cassandra and Blackwall move towards them out of the corner of her eye, right before she feels the pressure of Felix’s hand in hers. He squeezes once, and there’s no mistaking that it’s on purpose.

“Felix!” There is genuine concern in the magister’s voice

Just as suddenly as he seems to have fallen ill, he’s righting himself against the table before anyone else can come to his aid.

“My Lady, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He says while staring at her hand.

“Are you all right?”

Sarenna moves her arm to her side so as not to show off the bright piece of parchment tucked away against her palm. 

“I’m fine father.” Alexius is at his side, his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly worried for his son. 

The Herald looks between the two, as they share a wordless conversation. She glances behind Felix watching as Blackwall and Cassandra hover only a few steps away, not sure whether the situation is under control. Alexius sighs and straightens himself.

“Come. I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time.” And before anyone can even blink, the man is moving off towards the exit. “Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

The former Grand Enchanter jumps to attention and is moving with Alexius before he even finishes his command. Sarenna almost glares at the mage’s retreating back, but catches herself just in time. Felix lingers a moment more, looking as if he’s gathering his strength before moving.

“I don’t mean to _trouble_ everyone.” There’s something about the way he says ‘trouble’, that catches her attention, as if the gift in her hand hasn’t already. But the clearly ill man shuffles along after the entourage, almost as if forgotten by them. 

“I will send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.” The magister says off handedly on his way out, as if the efforts to contain the Breach are the least of his concerns.

Sarenna watches in silence as they leave, and her companions gather around her almost instantly. It isn’t until the last of Alexius’ entourage leaves the tavern and the mages within start speaking rapidly among themselves that she looks to examine what’s in her hand.

It’s a note.

“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” She says the cryptic words softly so that others won’t overhear.

“Well that much is obvious!” Varric is not mincing words, nor lowering his voice it seems.

“Come to the Chantry? Do they think we will fall for such a transparent trap?” The Seeker is outraged at the perceived insult.

“Now now lady Seeker. Give them some credit. They had to be prepared for all levels of intelligence. At least they went with the lowest common denominator.” 

Sarenna wants to cover her face at Blackwall’s comment, but never gets the chance. 

“May I inspect the message Ren?” Solas holds out his hand, and she sees no reason not to pass it along. The elf grasps the parchment in one hand while the other hovers just above it. She can sense the magic at his fingertips, curious about what he’ll discover. The other’s look at him as if he’s just done the unthinkable. Sarenna wants to laugh at the expressions on their faces, but the severity of their situation prevents her. 

They truly are in danger. Far more danger than bandits or demons or dragons, or even the Breach.

“It would appear the only one to touch the note before handing to our Herald, was indeed Felix.” He says somberly after a moment. “Although that is not to say that it isn’t genuine. I can only tell whose hands it has passed through, not who was present when it was written, or who else knows of its existence.”

“It still helps.” Sarenna says taking the note back.

“Well if it’s a trap, then at least we know it’s a trap. And that right there is your best defense.” Varric says while toying with Bianca once more. She’s beginning to believe the dwarf is nervous. Not that she’ll ever get him to admit that.

“No. Absolutely not. We are not going to the Chantry to be ambushed by these lying agents of Tevinter.” Cassandra hisses at them, trying to keep her voice low. “I was there when we met Fiona in Val Royeaux. I was there when she asked us to come. How could she lie to our faces claiming she’s never met us? They are lying to us, and we will not give them the advantage.”

“What if it’s not a trap?” Blackwall asks plainly.

“If it’s not a trap, we get some questions answered.” Sarenna replies.

“And if it is?” Cassandra snaps back.

“Then I believe we’re prepared to handle it.” She looks at the Seeker’s sheathed sword, sitting at her waist. Her expression is stern, and she hopes it shows more confidence than she’s feeling. 

Truthfully she’s shaking inside. But they do need answers, and quickly. Every day the Breach remains, more and more rifts open. More and more demons escape from the fade to terrorize Thedas. And dealing with the Breach is really only the first step. They still need to find who is responsible for this is the first place. They still need to bring Justice.

She realizes suddenly she’s been selfish by delaying their return to Haven. Her night terrors are traumatic, of that there is no doubt. But she chose to stay and join the Inquisition for a reason. As much as dealing with the Commander is the last thing she wants to do, she knows that she must.

Besides. 

She takes a quick look in Blackwall’s direction. 

She may have a distraction that can help.

Cassandra looks at her as if she’s about to burst into another tirade, but then merely nods at her. Sarenna nods back with a look of gratitude.

“Alright. We gather up Sera, wherever she’s gone off to. Find the Chantry, and deal with whatever waits for us there. And then make our way back to Haven with all haste.” 

Everyone murmurs their ascent, and they turn as one to leave the tavern. The mages act as they did when they arrived. They mill around nonchalantly, pretending not to stare at the members of the Inquisition, but it’s obvious as their heads turn ever so slightly to keep the group in their sights.

Except instead of leaving without incident, someone blocks their path just before the door. Sarenna stops so fast that she feels someone bump into her from behind. She’s not sure who it is, but also doesn’t care as she stares at the man in front of them. If the sunburst on his forehead isn’t obvious enough, the blank look in his eyes is a sure sign of what stands in front of them.

A Tranquil.

He’s the only one they’ve seen in Redcliffe, and given what they found in the cabin by the docks not too long ago, she’s shocked he’s even here. 

“You are the one they call the Herald of Andraste.” There’s no emotion in his voice to indicate that he’s asked a question.

“Yes.” She sees no point in lying, especially given that everyone already knows who they are.

“I am Clemence. Formerly an alchemist from the Circle of Magi.” Sarenna knows what Tranquil are, but this is the first time she’s met one. The monotone of his voice may be the final straw in the basket of surprises this day. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the Magister. He does not approve of those without magic like me.”

“I was told earlier that the Arl was forced to leave.”

“Yes. The magister was not gentle when he expelled the ruling family. I too was told to leave the castle, although for a different reason. The magister does not like to be reminded of what is possible.” 

She glances quickly to the sunburst, her eyes darting back to his, she hopes, before he notices. “Clemence, you’re the only Tranquil we’ve seen since we arrived. You can’t be the only one to have joined the rebellion.”

She thinks he would shuffle nervously if he was capable of feeling nervous. Instead he stands just as still as he has for the entire conversation thus far. “Magister Alexius has been banishing Tranquil from Redcliffe. One by one they have been leaving. I have not seen my companions leave, but I know they are gone from here.”

She knows they’re not being banished, and that makes listening to his empty voice much worse.

“I would offer my services in alchemy to the Inquisition. I prefer to be useful.” His voice is just as devoid of, well anything, as earlier, but she swears she can sense a desperation in his request.

She doesn’t turn to Cassandra, she doesn’t glance at Solas, or look to see what Varric or Blackwall think. “Are you able to make your way to the Crossroads?”

“I have seen it’s location on a map. I believe I can navigate my way there.”

“Go there. Find Corporal Vale, tell him I sent you and that he’s to send you onward to Haven with an escort.”

“Herald, they cannot afford to send anyone away from the Crossroads.” Cassandra is back to sounding immeasurable vexed. 

Sarenna turns towards her, “If he can make it to the Crossroads, he’s earned an escort to Haven. If we weren’t needed elsewhere, we would be escorting him.” The Seeker purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything further.

She turns back towards Clemence. “Can you leave now?”

“I have no personal possessions.”

“Then go.” _Before it’s too late._ She thinks.

“I trust we will meet again in Haven.” And with a dip of his head, he turns and exits the tavern. 

There’s a long moment when none of them speak, none of them move. They all just stand and stare at the place where, quite possibly, the last Tranquil of the mage rebellion once stood. Sarenna doesn’t know very much about them aside from the obvious, and belatedly realizes that she may have just sent the young man into more trouble than she thought. Would he think to bring food with him? It’s a two day hard walk between Redcliffe and the Crossroads. There are still dangers on the road, would he know to hide or how to defend himself? Suddenly feeling guilty, she rushes for the door to see if she can find him and give him additional instructions.

When the late afternoon sun hits her face, she has to blink a few times to help her eyes adjust. She looks down the road, still filled with mages, but fails to find the one person she’s looking for. He couldn’t have gotten very far, she should still be able to spot him. Except from behind, almost all the mages with short brown hair, and robes look identical. She sighs heavily, and her shoulders sag visibly.

“What’s the matter my lady?” Blackwall appears on her left.

“Did I just send him to his death?”

“I think he’ll be fine Freckles. He’s managed to survive this far.” Varric flanks her right side. “Besides, we’ve cleared the most immediate dangers from the road. He’ll be fine.” And this time he says it as if he’s trying to convince himself.

“If we’re quick with this business in the Chantry, we can perhaps catch up with him and ensure nothing befalls him.” Solas suggests from behind her.

She turns towards the elf, and smiles appreciatively. “That’s probably the best we can do at this point. Let’s go find Sera.” 

The words have barely left her mouth when one blonde elf comes skipping down the road towards them.

“Oi! You guys are never going to believe what I found!”

“Oh I’d say we have some surprises of our own.” Varric answers back.

“Well besides the healer, who’s not quite as elf-y as egghead, but still pretty elf-y if you know what I mean-”

“Are they part of the rebellion?” Cassandra asks.

“Gods no! I went to look for little people, and I found little people.” Sera looks offended, “The healer says they’ve only let her stay so far because she’s the only one with ‘herblore’, whatever the eff that means. But she doesn’t seem too keen on staying in these parts.”

“Do you think we could convince her to come with us to the Crossroads?” Sarenna asks.

“Uhhhh, honestly, she might? Though she was right frightened. But never mind her. I found something _really_ good! But I’ll need Varric for this to pay off.”

All of them stare at the elf skeptically. Varric most of all.

“Just come with me?” The Herald never thought she’s hear the day when Sera pleads with someone. She tries not to laugh as one archer stares at the other.

“With a face like that how can I say no?” Varric audibly sighs. “You kids think you can handle the Chantry without us? We don’t want to keep our mystery host waiting.”

“I was able to handle many things without your aid before I brought you here Varric.” Now Cassandra is the one who sounds offended.

Sarenna steps in before they start arguing again. “She means yes. Meet us back there once you’re finished, whatever it is you’re doing. We’ll wait for you before heading out, provided the supposed ambush hasn’t been successful.”

Varric winks at her and follows Sera back down the road. 

“Where’s the Chantry?” She asks once those two are on their way. “I haven’t seen it since we’ve been here.”

“As luck may have it, I passed through Redcliffe on my way to Haven. It’s tucked away to the north, down that road there.” Solas surprises her once again with his statement. She wonders why he failed to mention that before.

In fact he’s surprised all of them if the looks Cassandra and Blackwall are giving him, are any indication to go by. 

“An apostate elf just wandered into Redcliffe before the Conclave?” The Seeker sounds incredulous.

“It was not hard Lady Cassandra. The mage rebellion had already installed themselves here, and the magister had most certainly not yet arrived. It was quite simple to slip in and out unnoticed.” He says it so matter of factly.

“Solas, can you lead the way?” Sarenna asks before any more internal explosions happen between them.

He nods in the solemn way he usually does, and starts down the opposite way the two rogues headed just moments earlier.

As they make their way to follow him, Cassandra walks beside her. “We need to speak about your intentions in coming here. You said you wanted to gather information, and yet back there you spoke of asking for their aid with the Breach. In Fact, you outright demanded it! The Inquisition has not yet decided who we will align ourselves with.”

“Cassandra, my intentions in coming here were exactly as I told you.” She continues walking but turns her head so that she’s looking at the Seeker, “What we found when we got here changed the circumstances.”

“Just because you hold the power to close rifts does not give you the authority to make decisions on behalf of our cause!”

“Then what does Cassandra? Being the left hand of the Divine, or the right? Perhaps I should work on my negotiating tactics and give Lady Josephine a run for her money, or better yet, learn to lead an army. Would any of those qualify me?” She knows the volume of her voice is going up. However they’re not at an Inquisition camp, they’re in enemy territory. She can’t afford to let this explode out of control.

“Unless you are all of those things at the same time, which no one can be, then no!” Cassandra also appears to understand where they are. It’s easy to tell she’s also struggling at controlling her own temper. “The Inquisition was formed as a group, and until we formalize a leader, that group will continue to make these types of decisions, _together_.”

The Seeker huffs and stalks off past the Herald, her posture leaving no room for doubt that she’s agitated. Sarenna continues to walk at the pace she’s set, trying to calm herself down. It’s been months and the two of them still bicker like siblings. Now that she thinks of it, Cassandra still does the same with Varric. Is there going to be any hope of them ever getting along? They’re technically on the same side, but Sarenna is getting tired having to fight battles with the people who she’s supposed to be helping. Not just tired, she’s exhausted from it. How is she going to have enough energy fighting the real battles if these inner skirmishes keep happening. Not to mention what she knows is waiting for her in Haven, where she absolutely will not get any rest.

Blackwall’s scent washes over her a moment later, and she thinks for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he will be the person who can save her from this insanity. She glances at him, knowing he’s come to walk beside her, and meets his eyes. The warden looks back at her with a warmth she isn’t expecting, but completely embraces.

“I wouldn’t worry about our Seeker too much, my lady. She’s worried just as much as you are I think. You’re both strong headed. You both want to do the right thing. Give it some time, I think you’ll find a way to get this job done.” 

“Some days I’m not so sure.”

He smiles at her then, the kind of smile that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle. “From what I’ve seen in you the last few weeks, I have no doubt. You’re stronger than you think. You truly care, and you’ll see this through to the end. It’s in the way you move and fight. It’s in every decision you make. You’ll find a way, I know it.”

His words make her flush, and she doesn’t want him to stop talking. In fact, she wants more than anything to find out if the warden’s hands will make her feel just as good as his words do. But this is neither the time nor place. And even with all the glances and kind words, she’s still not sure he wants the same things she does. They have after all, only known each other a few weeks. She’ll need to put those thoughts in a box for later.

They turn a corner and there on top of a small hill is the Chantry. It’s not as big as the one in Haven, but there’s no mistaking the building for what it is. She notices it looks almost, abandoned. She realizes then they haven’t seen any Chantry folk in Redcliffe, which makes sense if what Connor said is true, and she has no reason to not believe him.

They come to a stop as they approach the small stairway leading to the double doors. All of them standing in a line.

_I almost hope it is a trap, just so I can hit something,_ she thinks.

“Let’s get this over with.” Sarenna says out loud. 

The mood of the party changes instantly. The tension from her and Cassandra’s disagreement melts away, the two women mentally preparing for whatever they’ll find behind those doors. She can tell Solas is preparing himself for the worst, and hoping for the best. And Blackwall, well Blackwall she thinks looks like he’s ready to face just about anything. He has the same expression he’s worn during every battle. The same expression when he first raised his shield, and saved her from the arrow that could have killed her.

She mentally shakes herself and snaps her attention back to the Chantry doors.

“Ready?” She asks.

In return she get three distinct sounds. They’re not grunts exactly, but neither are they words. Her companions are clearly done talking.

Cassandra takes the first step up the stairs, and the rest of them follow closely on her heels. Sarenna stops briefly when they reach the top, and looks behind her out towards Redcliffe, much the same as she’s done in Haven. She can still see the Breach from here, but it’s just barely visible, a green blip among the mountains to the East. She takes a deep breath, grateful for the reminder of why they’re here, and faces forward just as the Seeker nudges open the door.

The hinges creak loudly, but not enough to drown out the sounds coming from within the building. Sarenna takes a sharp intake of air as the mark on her palm comes to life. She looks at the glow that manages to pierce through the leather of the gloves she wears. A trap they expected, another rift they did not. Perhaps, that is the trap.

She notices Blackwall looking at her hand, and she tries to give him a half smile. A look that tells him she’s fine, despite knowing just how much energy it’s going to take her to use the key in her hand. She unhooks the staff from her back, not for the first time, or last wishing she had daggers, and prepares herself as Cassandra pushes open the door further.

They jump inside, quickly, one after the other and stare confused at the lone figure battling two demons by himself. Sarenna is wary. This could be a trap. This could be a trap gone horribly wrong by those who planned it. This could be a trap exactly the way it was meant to unfold, in a fashion to keep them off their guard. She instantly takes a battle ready stance, and notices the others do the same.

The lone man, beats expertly at two demons with a staff. One after the other, they fall to the ground, and quickly disintegrate, getting sucked into the rift, like most demons who fall near the tears. The man turns towards them, as if knowing they’re already there, despite being previously engaged. He plants the staff into the floor beside him and strikes a pose. Sarenna can’t help but feel the energies flowing around him, even from across the rather large room. 

Mage.

As if the staff wasn’t enough of a give away.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?” He says as if they’ve kept him waiting for an eternity, and they must make amends by doing as he asks.

As if on cue, four more demons explode through the torn veil, and materialize in the waking physical world. Sarenna wonders how long the rift has been here for, and why they couldn’t hear anything outside. Her thoughts are cut short as two of the demons make a beeline towards her.

Both Cassandra and Blackwall rush towards them, shields up. Sarenna waves her free hand and casts a barrier over both warriors, protecting them from some damage. As soon as the spell is cast she takes hold of her staff with two hands and swings it over her head in expert fashion. Solas slams his own staff down into the ground beside her, the resulting electricity sweeps across the room, hitting the demon trying to flank them. The Herald in turn brings her own staff down, and a block of ice traps the demon Cassandra is currently engaged with. 

Sarenna flashes a smile at the sound of the Seeker crashing into their common, frozen enemy. She quickly glances to their mystery mage. He’s engaged with the fourth demon, so she leaves him to his task, ridiculous flair and all. She still has no idea if he’s friend or foe, and if he’s busy fighting a demon, then he can’t fight them. Instead she focuses her attention on the rift floating in the middle of the Chantry. 

She learned early on that she didn’t need to take off her gloves to control the rifts, and so she doesn’t waste time trying to get the garment off. Instead she raises her hand and feels the pull of the Fade through the mark. The magics and energies are sharp and just as foreign as when she first woke up after the explosion, but there’s no time to recoil at the feelings. She lets the mark burn in her blood and calls upon ice and snow to numb the pain, while she continues to feel for the _hook_ she needs to shut the rift. She’s panting after not too long and she realizes it will take a few _pulls_ for this rift to shut. 

Sarenna brings her arm back and the green fog before them pulses once, as if it’s about the close, but instead it only gets smaller. That’s when she notices the ‘bubbles’ as Cassandra put them earlier. She takes a few deep breaths and jumps into the closest one to her. It’s as if everything but her has slowed down. She watches, fascinated, as a fireball from the dark haired mage explodes in great detail around the demon he’s fighting. The man’s laughter makes him look like a maniac when slowed. The Herald glances back towards the two warriors, and waits for their swords to inch closer and closer to the sloth demon they’re attacking. 

The feeling is surreal, but she realizes more demons are trying to make their way through. She turns, in normal speed, towards the rift, and allows the mark to flare once more. Except this time, the pain is so great that no amount of magical cooling can distract her from the burn of the mark. She cries out and lets her connection to the rift drop as she clutches her arm to her chest and stumbles free from the time bubble.

Solas is at her side, seemingly from nowhere, helping her to her feet.

“Now is not the time to experiment Ren. Focus on closing that rift!” And then the elf is off towards what looks like the outline of wraith. 

Sarenna take the briefest of moments to call as much ice as she can, and reaches for the rift for the third time. It burns, but it’s nothing compared to what she felt in the time warp. She gathers more ice to herself, to the point that she can see it crystallizing on her armor. The mark reaches into the Face, and it’s not very long until she feels the magic latch onto whatever it is in the rift that allows her to close it. With a vigorous tug, she _pulls_ , and this time when the rift pulses, it snaps shut with a bang, and half the demon that was trying to claw its way out, drops to the floor in a sticky puddle. 

The silence is a heavy sound after the echoes of their battle have dispersed.

The mage looks at the remains a moment, truly studying them, as if they weren’t a demon a moment ago, that he was bent on destroying. He looks up, finally looking at the group who is staring intently back at him. The group, of which none, have lowered their weapons.

“Fascinating. How does that work, exactly?” He receives hard stares as an answer. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and Boom! Rift closes!” The giggle that escapes him appears to be genuine. 

Sarenna frowns.

“Who are you?” 

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself I see.” The man stows his staff, twirls his hands, and gives one of the most ridiculous bows she’s ever seen, “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I do hope you guys enjoyed that. I'm getting excited knowing what's coming up. and with luck that'll be sooner rather than later.  
> Also love the comments! It's really nice to hear you guys actually enjoy reading what I write. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been working on the idea for this work for almost six months now, and have written and rewritten and rewritten. And it's not completed yet, but I figured I had better post the damn thing before I restart it again. I used to write fanfics back in the day, but haven't worked on anything in almost 15 years, so I feel like I'm brand new at this again. But I'm hoping to keep this story interesting!


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